Dead to the World
by leuska
Summary: For months she's been gone. Months in which Castle's been forced to believe that Kate Beckett was dead. Eight full months in which he's missed her, craved her, mourned her. Now she's standing on his doorstep, two coffees in slightly shaking hands and Castle's world collapses. Direct spoilers for 4x23 Always, but most probably AU from there.
1. Prologue

_A/N – So this is my new multi-chapter. I didn't think I would do one so soon, but well, you cannot really stop inspiration, despite that it sometimes comes in the most unsuitable moments. This story will incorporate a lot of retrospective, everything that happens in the plot before the S4 Always finale and this chapter will be written in italics. I hope to update regularly, so cross fingers. _

_**A huge thanks to the awesome wp1fan for the beta. She did a tremendous job, but she writes even more tremendous stories, so you should definitely go check them out over at her profile!**_

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**PROLOGUE **

The TV is still blaring in the background, the news segment running over and over for hours. An empty glass of scotch sits at the edge of his desk, half an empty bottle nearby. He sits - hunches really - in his chair with his head in his hands, his elbows heavily resting on the top of the mahogany surface of his desk.

He cannot listen any more to what the TV says, what the news has been saying for over a week now. Eight months of complete silence, no leads and continuous roadblocks. Then, mere ten days ago, the story exploded all over the news. Her case has been blown wide open, fourteen years too late but at last. She isn't here to celebrate it though, so there's certainly no celebration for Castle either. The big revelation, the so-called 'victory of justice' holds no meaning for him, brings him no relief. Because she is dead.

His eyes tiredly wander over his desk. His computer, a couple of framed pictures, some loose pencils and pens, scraps of blank paper. Nothing book-related though. Most certainly nothing book-related. Only thinking about writing another book flips his stomach. Last time he did so, was _forced_ to do so, was so painful he can barely look back at the activity with anything else but cold dread. He's never going to write another piece of fiction. Gone is the _Master of Macabre_, ironically conquered by the subject of his own genre. It was all fine and nice as long as it happened only in his head and on his page where he could twist and wind and change it any time and any way he liked. But the macabre isn't that pretty when it hits home and this time, it hit home pretty hard.

He finally untangles his fingers from the mess they made in his hair, sighs. Deep circles run under his eyes and he is so damn exhausted he could sleep for a month, a year, forever maybe. He opens the bottom drawer of his desk, takes out a thick notebook bounded in black leather and a single photo he nowadays hides in a small nook in its binding.

He used to have her photo on his desk but it was unnerving Alexis, so he took it off, hid it in the depths of the drawer along with all his darkest thoughts. The picture is of poor quality, merely a home printed photo he once upon a time snapped with his phone at the precinct when she wasn't looking. It's the same photo that would still flash on his screen along with her name if she were to ever call him again. But she won't, because she can't. She is dead.

He runs his fingers over his face, tightly rubs at his eyes before running his fingers over the couple day old stubble. All is so screwed up right now. The worst part is,he thought he was doing so _well_ lately; he truly did. He ventured out into the outside world more often; he met up with Alexis for brunches and lunches or had her over for dinner as often as he could muster pretending to be his old unbothered self, trying to be the parent he knew she deserved and needed. It's been hard on his girl too, Castle knew, thought he could pretend only so much.

Removing Kate's photo - or more accurately - replacing it from his desk, was a step by which he attempted to show his daughter he was finally moving on, because it's been eight months already and it was time to finally take his head out of the gutter. The photo removal was meant to be symbolic, that life was returning to its usual way. But when he held the photo in his hand, ready to finally get rid of it, he found he absolutely couldn't do it. It felt as if by removing it, he'd be removing her too. From his thoughts, from his life, from his heart. So he merely hid the photo in the bottom drawer, kept it between the yellowing pages of the black leather notebook.

The gesture was indeed symbolic in the end. Only, despite moving on with his life, he only managed to master the concealment of his anguish better than ever before. He looks at the photo now as the TV anchor still goes on and on about the case finally going on trial two days ago.

After a while he manages to unglue his gaze and mind from the photo and sets it aside, opening the notebook on the page he's last written, continuing as if he never stopped in his careful handwriting. He might not be a writer of popular fiction anymore, but it still helps to get out his thoughts down like this, the writing - especially done by hand – helping him to sort out his thoughts, soothing his still too often raw wounds.

_Today's not a good day, Beckett. They apparently caught him though, but I already wrote about that. What's new is that they say it was caused by a sudden appearance of an old case file with all the incriminating evidence. I wonder if Smith had to something to do with it, I haven't heard from the guy ever since…_

His hand wavers, bottom lip shakes. He continues on the next line as if he's never stopped.

_FBI is supposed to have gotten their hands on some superhot top secret witness. I keep wishing they all knew about this eight months ago. _His hand once against hovers over the paper, but he forces himself to continue.

_The case against him is supposed to be rock solid. You would have been proud. I can't help it Kate, I wish every single day you were here, especially now, to see him fall. I wish we could go over to the court house together and you'd finally look him in the eye as they lock him away for good. The battle is over, at least for this one thing, justice is being served. It doesn't matter much to me though, it's not enough, because you're not here. Maybe it should bring some peace to my mind, because he's finally going to pay for what was done to your mother, to you. But it doesn't, and my mind is very rarely peaceful these days. All I can think about is how it doesn't matter because this insane cause has lost you your life and our future. I don't think you would like my line of thinking very much. I don't think you would like me nowadays very much either. All I can say in my defense is that I am trying Kate, God knows I am trying, if for nothing else than for my little girl's sake at least, because I know how hard it would be for her if I let myself go._

He stops at this, rereads the last few lines. Yes, he knows how hard it would be for Alexis to lose her father over grief, knows it would damage her in the exact same way it'd once damaged Kate when after her mother's death her only remaining parent turned to alcohol instead of her. With absolutely certainty, Castle knows he won't do that to his daughter, ever. Despite on the brink of adulthood, his daughter still needs him, now maybe more than ever, as she's starting to venture more and more into the wild and dangerous world that lies out there on her own.

The thoughts bring his mind back to Jim and their regular meetings every once a fortnight. They haven't spoken in over a week, and Castle thinks with a sudden pang of urgency that he should probably call the man, ask him how he's handling the news that the trial against the man who's taken his wife, his sobriety and ultimately his daughter, has finally started. Thinking what a huge setback it has been to his own mental recovery, Castle can only imagine what it must be like for Jim. It's beenall over the news for several days now; there's not a chance he'd miss it, even if he's nowadays spending most of his days at his cabin fishing. You don't bring down a high profile member of the government and notmake a huge scandal of it.

On the other hand, Castle thinks, maybe Jim is handling the situation better than he is. He would lie if he said he wasn't shocked, but relieved, upon learning that Jim's been managing the shock of his horrible and sudden loss with the solemn grace of somebody who's faced the same tragedy before. Still, Castle cannot help but think, ever since…just…he just never expected the man to adapt so quickly. He doesn't begrudge him that, God, he's silently glad for the man. He just wishes he could also do it so…for the lack of more suitable word, _easily_. Maybe knowing your daughter's life has been on the line for years on end, maybe expecting the other shoe to drop over and over again does that to you. That maybe when that final call comes through, you are ready to face and accept the brutal reality with this calm and dignified sadness. Or maybe it was that Jim's already received such crushing news once in the past? Knew how to take it in, how to react? No, Castle knew, no amount of experience could prepare you for that.

Later, he often told Rick how he and Kate (even in his thoughts he mentally stumbles on the mention of her name) didn't talk much over the course of the past few years, have seen of each other even less. Is this why he seemed to be handling the news better than Rick? Was it because he was used to Kate's absence the way Rick never was? Because working with her for four years, day in and day out, made him feel her sudden absence as a loss of his own limb? Or was Jim just a better liar, a better keeper of his pain?

Be that as it may, the older man had definitely a far better coping mechanism than Castle, because ever since Rick started to call him up to meetings – first with the intent to look after the man out of respect and honor of his late daughter - it was Jim who seemed to do the pick-me-up talk, Jim who seemed to see the brighter side of things, if there ever was any.

He's looked even more content lately, maybe he finally got to accept he'd never get Kate back again and he finally started to make peace with it. Castle wished for the same, but it wasn't that easy for him. He nearly envied the man, then again felt despicable for even engaging such thoughts. The man went through hell. _Twice_. Castle should be glad for him, for his ability to manage grief so well, especially after there was no one to look out for him anymore. Kate would certainly be proud.

Castle looks at the notebook in front of him. There is still so much to be said; there's always so much to be said, but he closes the book. It is enough for now. He has a relatively new rule that says not to spend more time with his dark thoughts than half an hour a day. Thirty minutes in which he's allowing himself to mourn and wallow in his grief by pouring out his soul to the empty pages of a little black book. He's already broken his rule several times this week, with the case coming public, the scandal being all over the news.

He wanted to stay out of it this time, completely out. He didn't want to have anything to do with it anymore. The same way Kate didn't when she came to his doorstep soaked as a rat yet resolute in her decision, choosing life instead of chasing the ghosts of her past that would eventually get her killed.

It didn't matter in the end; they killed her anyway.

Castle raises his hand and drags it across his face again, willing the budding headache to subside.

So what if the FBI had him, had finally caught the dragon and promised to pin him to a wooden cross and let him burn? It was already too late for Castle to care. He didn't want justice, he didn't need revenge. What he so desperately longed for was something he couldn't have, and dragging this thing through mud only brought it all back, all the guilt and regret and thoughts of wistful if-onlys. He could see in his mind'seye that dissatisfied frown Kate would throw his way; after all, they've been chasing this thing together for nearly four years. Surely, catching her mother's killer should bring him at least a little measure of satisfaction.

He is nearly angry with her for that. For her disregard of herself, for thinking this thing could ever be of more value than her life, that it could mean more than what they could have.

But she did change her mind in the end, she _did_, his mind supplies stubbornly. It was just too late; he couldn't protect her.

"…_the FBI, saying the name of the key witness won't be released to the public up until the case is closed. "We've been waiting for the right time to come forward with this case", said the head prosecutor, "until it was rock solid. Since this man destroyed so many lives, it was important for us to be sure we'd have all the necessary evidence and testimonies prepared, recorded, approved and sealed by the time we came forward. It took several months but we are sure to now have everything we need to lock this man up for good the way he deserves." District Attorney office added it hoped for a quick trial with no attendance of the public, granting - as can happen in special cases - the exclusive submission of recorded testimonies instead of bringing the key witness into the process directly. "Our key witness has been through a lot in the past several months and although - on their own wish – they refused to enter the witness protection program, we still want to honor their sacrifice by ensuring as much privacy as possible, especially due the level of distress that's been brought on their lives in the past couple of…_"

Castle stops listening at this point, he's heard it all before. The segment's been running over and over again for the past couple of hours and the only emotion it managed to stir inside of him was a surge of self-directed anger at his inability to shut the damn thing off.

The whole uncovering of the past week has swallowed him into a black hole he hoped never to return into again. He shunned the public eye, holed himself up in his apartment and barely took any calls. He again started having problems sleeping and the mere thought of food made his stomach churn with acid. For the first time in his life, Richard Castle looked every single one of his forty-one years. It was no good. He needed to move on; God, he needed it like his next breath. He's been living a shadowed life for so many months now thathe's nearly forgotten how to be himself anymore.

Thank God for mother. In the first months after Kate's death, she's been the rock he and Alexis could lean on. He always liked to pretend their crazy relationship was highly dysfunctional. Yet truth was, it was never dysfunctional. Despite her obvious flaws, his mother was always there for him and especially in the past few years offered her son more words of wisdom than in the whole of his first thirty-five years of life.

Castle takes another photo from the top of his desk, bringing it closer. There she is, Martha Rodgers in the dramatic style of black and white, mere forty-five years of age – nearly as old as he is now, Castle thinks. It's her favorite stage photo she got him framed to have on his desk a couple of years ago. He thought surviving Kate would be nearly impossible, but he managed as long as his mother took care of things, took care of Alexis and sometimes him too on days he so painfully obviously wasn't able to. He puts the photo back down, reminding himself once again he needs to move on, needs to be there for his mother and daughter. He takes the switch in haste and turns the TV off.

Maybe he should take a trip to the Hamptons for a while, no TV and no radio, at least until this whole thing blows and he can breathe a little easier again. Maybe he can even convince Alexis to take a couple of days off of school to go with him. Yeah, Alexis would surely like that, no need of any real convincing. The only reason she isn't still living at home with him is because he asked her not to.

One would think the loss of a loved one – on top in such a brutal and unexpected way - would make you feel clingy and in need to tie another loved one - especially your child - even closer to yourself. And yes, that need is still strongly there, supported by Alexis' own wish to be there for her father in his time of need. But she is everything he's got and that's why he isn't willing to let himself screw things up even further. If he won't let her go now, he won't be able to let her go ever. She needs to be her own person, damn, she is merely nineteen years old and she needs to enjoy life as much as possible, experience and explore who she is and who she wants to become. And she surely couldn't do that at the side of her grief-stricken father, tending to his needs while putting her own life on hold. That's why he convinced her a couple of months ago to finally move out and in with some friends the way she always wanted and intended before Kate's death turned their lives upside down.

She still visits more often than she probably would have haven't things go so wrong on so many levels, still, Castle at least takes some comfort in the knowledge he didn't completely ruin Alexis' life in his process of grieving for a woman she didn't get a real chance to even get to know properly.

A knock on his door, ever so quiet, pulls him from his thoughts. He entertains the thought of not bothering to rise to go open the door because really, there is no one to expect. His mother and daughter have the key and everybody else has learned to leave him alone, discovering that he's much more pleasurable company over the phone these days. Still, even despite just his pajama bottoms hanging loosely from his hips and a robe carelessly untied, with hair unkempt and jaw not shaven, Castle rises to his feet and lets them carry him to his door, because some things never change and in spite of everything that's happened, Richard Castle is still a curious man.

There it is again, that soft, almost uncertain knock. Suddenly, an uneasy feeling settles in the pit of Castle's stomach, but before he's got any time to analyze the feeling, he's already at the door and opening it wide open to his apparently shy visitor.

And there she is. And his world starts wildly spinning, then abruptly stops and crashes.

"Hey Castle," she says as if she's only seen him yesterday. Two cups of coffee in her slightly shaking hands, she makes an uncertain, timid impression. She looks just the same, looks like the morning he so casually kissed her goodbye to never see her again. Yet here she is, looking all natural and beautiful, and as _alive_ as ever. She could simply be dropping by for dinner, or one of their late evening wrap-up sessions after a case, she could really be just visiting for any good reason, weren't she only supposed to be dead.

Her posture crumbles a little at the sight of him and her bottom lip starts trembling as he simply keeps on staring at her. She continues to speak though, despite being painfully aware of his state of shock. "I meant to call you first, but then I thought to hear my voice over the phone might come as an even greater shock than seeing me in person. So, here I am…" she stands there, unmoving, only shuffling from one leg to the other, completely insecure. And suddenly, Castle realizes, she doesn't look like Beckett at all, not the Kate he knew. Surely this can't be her, this unsure, scared little thing. He tries to wrap his head about it, tries to come up with a plausible if wild theory that would explain this strange event where Kate Beckett suddenly stands at his doorstep eight months after he stood with her father over her grave, but fails miserably. There is no other way to explain this, only that with the case being all over the news, bringing back all the memories with it, he's apparently reached his breaking point. So what if he is going a little insane? Isn't everybody in this city to some capacity a little nutty?

When he doesn't move, talk or acknowledge her in any way, her state of distress grows even further. Her eyes glass over, voice trembling to a point where it nearly breaks. "I know what it must look like to you…I mean, God…I've been _gone_ for eight months …but it's really me, Castle. I am here, and I'm _not_ dead."

TBC

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_A/N – Thoughts? Critics? All welcome. Just don't be shy, every author loves and craves feedback, despite what all the cool writers say to you these days…;) _


	2. Chapter 1 Beckett

A/N – Thank you all for the awesome feedback. I hope this chapter will explain a thing or two about what happened. Everything in Italics means we go back in time retrospectively, covering the time between Always and Kate appearing on Castle's doorstep 8 months later. I feel like I owe you guys an explanation about this fic. The thing is, this story is as much about getting there (to the point where Beckett appears on Castle's doorstep alive) as having the actual conversation as to where to go from there. So I'll have to ask for patience, I am afraid. Hope you'll still enjoy the story though.

Again, a huge '**THANK YOU!**' goes to the wonderful wp1fan, who makes the best and most educative beta. I now know, for example, what a semicolon is. Ain't that awesome? :) Also, all remaining mistakes are most unfortunately mine.

**BECKETT**

_She is still smiling when she exits the cab a few blocks from her home. She feels like walking. The day is still crisp with humid air, but yesterday's storm has already cleared the sky and the sun is shining brightly, mirroring off the damp ground._

_She only starts to feel all the places she's sore, her attacker's blows being well to practiced and precise, leaving her with some very nasty bruises for the course of next weeks. _

_She doesn't mind much, she is used to feeling sore and hurting, being roughed up a bit, but she hates her injuries for what she knows the sight of them did to Castle. Yesterday, with the fog of their arousal and the darkness of his dim lit apartment clouding their minds' vision, neither would notice her flesh turning the angry blue and purple. Yet along the first rays of morning light came also the realization of how close to her end she'd been __just the day before. And it didn't sit well with him._

_Still, Kate refuses to let __her bruises to ruin the morning, their very first. She orders him to make some coffee – the good kind – before she engages him in another round of sex (oh so good) then takes a shower while he makes them breakfast._

_She tells him she needs to go home for a change of clothes, the ones from yesterday are simply too disgusting to even walk back home in. He still pouts at her playfully, doesn't want to let her go, offers to accompany her. She sees his pout for what it is and her heart skips a beat. He is afraid she isn't coming back. She steps closer to him then, his arms opening for her on their own accord. She buries her face in the crook of his neck, smiles. "I'll be back for lunch. I promise," she says and feels him relax against her._

_Despite her best intentions, she manages to break her promise, and it's one that will haunt her for a very long time._

_She is only two blocks away from her building when she's snatched into a dark van, her fight against her assailants futile. She is shoved __against the back of the huge car, prepares to fight against whoever her attackers are_**,**_ but before she can do anything further about her situation an FBI badge is flashed into her face. _

_She stops, pauses, yet doesn't let her guard down. The next twenty minutes are one giant and most confusing blur. A pair of agents unload a huge amount of information to her head __and despite her detective wits, she has a hard time catching up. _

_Maddox is in her apartment, right now, probably destroying any evidence she might have against the man who killed her mother (she doesn't even have time to question how they know this in the first place). He is also waiting for her, to kill her no doubt, the last remaining loose end. Her stomach flips. This was supposed to be over. She walked away. _

"_How do you know this and what is your agenda?" is the only thing she manages to ask them._

_A man, let's call him Mr. Smith (the name rings a bell, her stomach churning when she remembers where she's heard that name before, more specifically from *whom*) was killed last night. Not important who he was, he was in possession of a file. That file had a safety switch. The moment anything happened to Mr. Smith, the contents of that file would directly forward to somebody very important and high-ranking in the FBI who might be hugely invested into taking her mom's killer down. Who that person is isn't to be of her concern;__she should just be glad the file came through on time. _

_Her head is spinning with the information…the Dragon finally being taken on, the mysterious Mr. Smith being dead, Maddox waiting at her apartment, the FBI involved. _

_But where does that leave *her*? And where does that leave Castle…God, Castle… _

"_What do you want from me?" She still doesn't understand. They could have apprehended Maddox on their own, so why wait for her?_

_She's the only witness, they say. She is the only one left alive to offer information, statements, last living person to link the information from the file together. They need her help to finally expose and take the Dragon down._

_But she needs to disappear, she has to die. She refuses even as the air leaves her lungs. _

_It won't be forever, they say, just until they manage to get all the information they need to build __a case and make it rock solid, until they can hand it in into the safe and waiting hands of a special branch of prosecution the Dragon's ties cannot reach. It would only take a couple of weeks, months, tops. _

_She is speechless. What is there to say to something like that? There's a trained assassin in her apartment waiting to kill her right this very moment. But she cannot die, not like this. What about her life, what about her friends? What about Castle? What about her father? God, her father. Such news would**, **without doubt**,** kill him._

_Her father is allowed to know, they say, explain that they'll inform him but he must keep it quiet. But he will be allowed to know and that's good, right? The tiniest glimmer of hope flickers to life in her chest. What about Castle? Can they let Castle know as well?_

_The flicker of hope gets ruthlessly stubbed out. No one else can know, *no one* but her father._

_She thinks quickly, her mind racing with thoughts and possible scenarios. She cannot put Castle through that, God she can't, not again. She can't leave him thinking she is dead, was killed, murdered, snatched away from him by the very thing she just promised to let go and walk away from._

_Her eyes blur with tears, she faces an impossible choice. It's not even a choice, because what choice does she really have? Leave the car, walk away and let her remaining days be counted until they send another and another trained killer after her until she's finally dead? Castle's life is at stake too, they say, and this gets her attention. She might want to protect his feelings, but she would be endangering his life if she wouldn't step away from him now. They will come after her if she won't help stop them, and one day, it might be Castle who's standing between her and the next bullet. She's seen it nearly happen before.  
_

_It's this argument that tips the scales for good. She knows he will never be able to forgive her for this, but she doesn't have a choice. Tears spill as she finally nods her head before it falls to her chest in defeat. _

_She just signed off anything that was ever dear to her. Just put a seal of approval to the path of hell for her family and friends, for the man she loves. A couple of hours ago, she was the happiest person in the world, feeling safe and secure and loved, all smiling and sleepy in the circle of Castle's arms. Right now, she feels like she might be dying from the inside._

_Once her decision has been officially made, the van bursts into action. She doesn't even have the time to count and mourn her losses when she's already hauled to another van and transferred to a safety location._

_What about Maddox? What about her…'death'? How and when will it happen? What about her father?_

_Still en route, they press a non-traceable cell in her hand. 'Call your father, now. Explain but don't go into detail. Tell him to act natural, organize your funeral, we'll be contacting him about the details later. He is not to tell a word, to *anybody*, it may cost you – or him – his life. Make that clear.'_

_That first day flies by in a blur. She feels numb through the most of it, floating through the time and places they take her, only half-listening as they explain what will now become her life. Her thoughts are with Castle, how can they not, her stomach heaving with the thought of what awaits him in the next few hours._

_It's half past one when she realizes she never showed up for his lunch. Castle must be worried sick. They took her phone, took out the battery; it must go straight to voicemail. She prays he stays strong, prays their night together isn't as imprinted on his mind and soul and heart as much as it is on her own. She briefly wonders if she should regret seeking him out yesterday, deciding to finally dive in at the worst possible of times. If she stayed away, he would have gotten the news with only their last fight on his mind, her selfishness and the way she turned him down still a fresh wound. It would probably make the blow easier, she thinks. But she doesn't know, doesn't know for sure. God, she doesn't know anything right now. _

_She thinks about Esposito, Ryan, Lanie, then __prays for her father, his safety, counting on his ability to keep her secret and not tell a living soul or they might come after him. They apprehend Maddox just as he is about to leave her building – why exactly they don't know. She hears them radio it as she sits in the back of the dark FBI van. She is surprised when they actually take her to her place afterwards, throw two suitcases at her feet. _

"_You've got fifteen minutes to take anything you'd like."_

_She has a bad feeling about this. "You're going to destroy this place, aren't you?"_

_Their silence is loud enough. She panics. Homeless again. How are you supposed to pack all of your life in fifteen minutes, just two suitcases at hand?_

_She rushes through the place, takes all the meager valuables she can think of. Her family albums, some photos from the 12th she brought in a duffle bag from the precinct only the day before, favorite clothes and shoes, her mother's wooden box she keeps her ring and watch in, used to put her badge and gun inside as well. She packs some toiletries, a few blank notebooks, her Ipod. She shortly thinks of her guitar, has to suppress a hysterical urge to laugh about it. She throws everything haphazardly into the bags, doing good with her fifteen minutes. Still, she's scared there is too little time, too little space to take everything she wants. _

_She looks around her apartment, still panicked. 'What else?' her eyes stop at her books, the books that are everywhere. She loves her books, God, she cannot leave them here, to be destroyed, not again. Her eyes fall to the shelf with her most favorite titles. Half of it is filled with Castle and her heart skips a beat. She cannot lose his books too, not again, not with all those beautiful dedications. _

_The agents give her a funny look when she starts to take out all her Heat's from the shelf and throw them along into the bag. She couldn't care less about what they think. Her eyes blur momentarily when she thinks about the care she knew he must have put into each and every dedication. After her last apartment blew, he restocked her new library with all of his books, ignoring her loud mocking of his pretentious ego, what if she didn't like them anymore? She taunted him about it ruthlessly. Now she wishes she had told him how much they've come to mean to her. Each and every one of them is inscribed __with a heartfelt personal dedication. She looks at the row of beloved books and her chest falls. God, she can't take them all with her. Panic rises to surface again._

_She takes all three Nikkis, she would absolutely *never* be able to leave them, for they are hers, they are *theirs*, even if there is not a 'them' anymore. Not right now and she wonders if ever again. Because she will be dead in a matter of hours._

_Then she takes __In a Hail of Bullets__, __Flowers For Your Grave__, __Hell Haath No Fury __and the first two Storms, the five books that were her biggest comfort during one of the darkest times in her life. God, she wishes she could tell him now…She makes a promise to tell him exactly that, if she ever gets a chance._

_She looks around her place again, wonders if there is anything more she wants to take with her. Her eyes fall on the two suitcases. So this is all her life now, she's a ghost with two suitcases. She wants to cry. Or scream, or smash something. She does neither. She bends over to lift the suitcases from the ground and glares at the agent who appears at her side attempting to help her with the baggage. Her look is so dangerous and full of misplaced malice that it makes him physically step away. "I'm done. We can go," she barks out curtly._

_It's around 5 pm when she's brought to the safe house. A plain, near empty room with a simple desk and a chair, one bed. No personal items. Figures. The two suitcases that come to represent her life lie at her feet. There is a small bathroom to her left, a window at the far side of the room._

_She is finally left alone, the agents telling her they'll bring her some food later. Now she can rest for a couple of hours. She sits down on the bed, feeling the fight leave her at last, being replaced by despair and utter loneliness. Only yesterday, she thought her life had no meaning, no direction. But damn, in comparison, yesterday her life was a picnic._

_She cannot help but wonder. Is she dead yet?_

_The thought sends her reeling. It's the last push she needs to stumble over the edge. She lets her back fall on the bed, leaves her tears to run freely. She hugs herself, shivers. The bruises flare to life and she aches, inside out. She is emotionally raw; it's the only word that comes to her mind to really accurately describe how she feels, and she doesn't know how to channel her thoughts not to run in crazy circles in her head._

_She buries her nose in her shirt and that's when she smells it, the faintest, softest echo of Castle's scent. She's still in the clothes from yesterday; there was no time whatsoever to change. She is suddenly glad she didn't dispose of them; they feel like the very last link to her living life now._

_God, last night has been one of the best in her life. She finally dared to take that final leap into the unknown, allowed her heart to overrule her mind for once. And God help her, it was completely worth it. In the darkness of the early morning hours, wrapped in each other underneeth his cool, silky sheets, he whispered to her again that he loved her. She was falling asleep by then, a smile playing over her lips at hearing his say it. She could easily get used to falling asleep to these words pronounced in that deep, smooth voice of his every night. She told herself then that they'd have all the time in the world for her to say those words back; there was no need to rush anything and a better opportunity would presents itself soon enough._

_Today, lying on top of her new scratchy bedspread, all Kate can think about is how stupid she's been for taking time for granted. She should have told him then, told him immediately. No waiting anymore, not even for *those* particular words leaving her mouth. Especially not those words. But there's no way she can rectify that now, no way whatsoever. She feels complety helpless. _

_It still feels so surreal, so bizarre; but as of today, former detective Kate Beckett is dead to the world. Her heart bursts with grief. _

TBC

Thoughts please? Reviews make me update sooner. ;)


	3. Chapter 2 Castle

Hey guys. Here is another update of my story. We will still stay in retrospective for a bit more, because as I previously wrote, this story is as much about them finding to another again as well as getting there.

Thank you all for your wonderful feedback. Makes my heart flutter every time I see a review alert in my mail, keep them coming please.:)

Anyway, hope you'll like the update, let me know. If not, let me know as well.:) Huge thanks to wp1fan for the wonderful beta, all remaining flaws are mine.

**CASTLE**

_He doesn't remember much from the past three days. It's all been a blur, a one giant, horrible, morbid blur. _

_He's just had one of the best mornings of his life, finally, after four years and so much heartache, waking up to the smile and caress of the woman he pursued for as long as he could remember. They made love again and then he made her breakfast and they drank coffee and laughed and kissed and caressed and everything felt even better than it was supposed to__**. **__Until it wasn't._

_She left after breakfast in order to go home to get changed from her clothes__**.**__ He didn't want to let her go; maybe he had a bad feeling already back then, but he refused to acknowledge it in the face of the happiness he was feeling at that moment._

_She left him in his apartment with a promise of a soonish return that would be followed by the delicious lunch of his making. They didn't set an hour, but by 1 am, when the pasta was already cool on the stove, he picked up his phone to call her at last, even if it made him look all impatient and clingy._

_He knew there wasn't something quite right____the moment his call went straight to voicemail. He tried her number again with the same result. Third time wasn't the charm either. _

_But Alexis came home soon after and made him forget about Kate's absence for a while. He was a little edgy, but he forced himself to smile for being so overly dramatic. It was just the writer in him; he tried to convince himself of that as he listened to his daughter's recollection of her graduation party. _

_But it wasn't just his mind playing tricks on him. _

_He chose the time without Beckett to talk to his daughter about the latest development in his relationship with Kate. Alexis wasn't way too impressed, but Castle understood her reluctance for what it was – protectiveness towards his feelings. She's seen him hurt before. But there was nothing to be afraid of, not this time._

_By four in the afternoon, and after 10 more calls, Castle stopped playing the cool boyfriend and was halfway out his front door on his way to her apartment in order to check on her. After all, she faced a trained killer only the day before. He was just taking his coat from the closet, his keys dangling from his fingers, when his phone rang and he nearly sagged with relief. Finally! But it was not Kate's name flashing on the screen but Esposito's._

_He doesn't remember much after that. He thinks he might have sunken to the ground, right in front of his door, the very same door they so passionately kissed against only the night before. He has an impression Alexis rushed to him, demanding answers; he might have given her some, but he is not sure. _

_The next three days are as if he is walking under water. He refuses to believe the news at first, of course he doesn't. He somehow manages to overcome the initial shock and makes himself on his way to her apartment, because he simply has to see with his own eyes. _

_The sight welcomes him with sickening familiarity, broken windows, blackened walls. He isn't let inside but is met with a red-eyed Lanie, Esposito and Ryan at the yellow tape. Lanie seems to be hit the hardest, but just as he is about to tell her that this is all just one giant misunderstanding, that there must be another, simpler explanation to all of this, she holds out a shaky hand to him. Air rushes from his lungs when he recognizes the single blackened yet still glimmering object hanging from a singed chain from her hand. His heart stops because he's seen it, seen her put it on just that very morning. Put her mother's ring around her neck._

_All hell breaks loose inside of him. He is under the impression he let out a howl, like a wounded animal, at the sight of her ring; but again, he's not sure. The next thing he has a real recollection of is being home and tucked into his bed, his daughter and mother sitting at the edge of the mattress, his mother running her fingers through his hair, the saddest look in her eyes._

"_You'll get through this, kiddo." He must fall asleep after that._

_The next morning, he is once again in denial, especially since his sheets still hold her distinctive smell. He calls Esposito again, asks him for details. His hopes are definitely crushed when he's informed that there is DNA proof now. He throws the phone away as he blindly stumbles to his bathroom to vomit violently. The shock is slowly creeping up on him; the news just really starts to sink in._

_He doesn't leave his bed that day, or the day after. He has to the next one however, because that's the day of her funeral. At least that's the information he gets over the phone from a way too quiet Ryan._

_He stands in front of his closet, wet from his first shower in days and feels lost. His mother and daughter pick up his suit and shoes, even comb his hair. Alexis' eyes bright with tears, she silently ties the black tie around his neck. He looks into his daughter's eyes, his bright little bird, his only remaining source of happiness and he knows what kind of flowers he has to get Kate._

_It's not an official police ceremony, because she resigned, but Castle thinks she'd deserve one nevertheless. Maybe though, it was Jim Beckett's wish to hold a civil funeral, Castle doesn't know. The day is sickeningly bright and warm, the grass so familiarly green Castle feels the urge to flee the scene. He doesn't want to see the inside of a sunny cemetery ever again. He doesn't want to bury another person in his life._

_He wears heavy dark glasses, and he stands with his mother and daughter in the back simply because he can't stomach being that close to the casket. It still feels surreal; he cannot wrap his head around it. He hardly hears a word of the eulogy, all that he can think about is how it doesn't make any sense because hell she gave up, chose to walk away, just the day before and they killed her anyway._

_A tight icy knot forms in his gut that afternoon and he never manages to lose it again. He's really lost her. She's not coming back._

_People come by, condole him as well, but he doesn't understand. Why him? No one knew that they were finally together, no one, not officially anyway. No one knew what she meant to him, what he hoped he meant to her._

_Jim Beckett is the last to stop at his side, tries to talk to him, but Castle finds he can't look the man in the eye. He has killed his daughter. _

_He wants so badly to say something to him, try to console her father on what must be the worst day of his life, because here stands a man who's been robbed of everything in his life. Yet Castle cannot find the words, and he feels like he failed her on a whole new level. _

_Jim leaves and it's only days after that Castle realizes he hasn't____said a single word to the man. Truth is, Castle doesn't talk much at all these days._

_A few weeks go by in a blur, Alexis and mother keeping him constant company, trying to cheer him up. He starts to eat again, smiles, even grabs a few hours of sleep at night. He starts to become a master at pretending life's returning to normal when nothing ever felt so wrong before. _

_He had it all within reach only to have it snatched from the tips of his fingers so crudely._

_A month into his grieving he gets a call from Gina. He can tell she is nervous at the other end of the line, uncomfortable with whatever she has to say to him. A minute later, he finally understands and she is right, she should feel ashamed to even ask him! He slams the phone down with unnecessary force. _

_But three days later spending in deep thought, trying to bargain his way out of it, he knows she's right. The contract is binding, and it's not even about the money. "C'mon Rick," he tries to encourage himself in his mind, "how hard can it be?" Maybe it will even bring him some comfort._

_Not a full hour later he already knows this has been a terrible, terrible idea. __Frozen Heat__ blinks opened on the computer in his study, yet he's not writing at his book but sobbing like a little girl into the sheets of his bed that long ago stopped smelling like her._

_That's the day he starts to write the journal. He doesn't give it a name, a label. It's just a little book bound in black leather he pours his thoughts into. Sometimes he adds a date, sometimes he doesn't._

_The next weeks, he shuts himself in his office in order to finally close another painful chapter in his life and finish__ Frozen Heat__. It's at least a good excuse to distance himself from his mother and daughter. Though being a great source of comfort, their hovering is slowly driving him crazy. Amongst other things. Like the constant present thought that Kate is really dead._

_Working through __Frozen Heat__ is murdering a little peace of his soul every day. The pages often blur, every scene bringing out a memory of Beckett this and Beckett that. By the time he wraps the book up and sends it off to Gina, he feels like he's been tortured for weeks, lying under a ton of bricks on end. The weight doesn't lift. Either way, he doesn't want to see an inside of a bookstore ever again. He's done, definitely done writing. His muse is____dead, his heart is dead, so why bother?_

_The only source of writing remains his little black book. _

_Frozen Heat__ sells better than any of his previous books, quickly becomes Number One____bestseller. He knows the publicity of the tragedy is all the reason behind it, although Paula tried to damper it on that matter as much as she could. Still, Castle knows it's the main reason behind the astronomical sale numbers. It disgusts him to a sickening point. He's making money out of Kate Beckett even after her death. The reviews are awful though and it makes him feel a little better.___

_For some reason, it feels like a good punishment to have his latest book torn up by the ruthless claws of sharp-tongued critics. He is glad they can see – as he knows well by now – that his writing has considerably degraded along with the demise of his muse. _

_God Kate…it still hurts to even think her name._

_She would probably kill him if she knew what he did to her precious Nikki, how he ended the series. She always tried to play down her enthusiasm for his books, but he knew better. And what did he do to her favorite two characters? He unexpectedly killed Rook, made Heat resign and leave the city, holing up at some stupid ranch with horses in Kentucky never to recover from the blow. Extremely pathetic and even more poorly____done; and all in the span of the last fifteen pages without any previous indication the plot of the book was even heading there. Artistically and technically? Total crap. Personally? The horror of his life._

_Of course he didn't plan on the book to go there at the time he had most of it already written and nearly finished. He didn't anticipate her to die either. Yet he couldn't bring himself to go over the whole book and make adjustments that would at least hint towards the tragic ending. Rereading and rewriting it anymore would be way too painful and even worse, would feel like altering the past, where he still hoped for a happy ending for the two of them._

_Despite his depressive mood, Castle didn't want to let that go. Not even in his book. _

_TBC_

Thoughts? (apart from that it's sad and I am bad, cause I already know that. ;))


	4. Chapter 3 Beckett

Thank you, wp1fan, for the beta.

**BECKETT **

_They tell her *how* eventually. She needs to know, how she died, how it was delivered to the people she cared about, when her funeral is going to take place._

_She is not in New York anymore, but she is not out of state. She is allowed to watch TV, listen to the Radio. She has, albeit a very restricted and monitored, access to the internet. _

_She Googles herself. She sees the news articles, sees the headlines screaming: "Former NYPD detective killed along with her assassin." _

_So she obviously didn't go out without a fight. Her apartment burned down again (God, nobody in their right mind will ever take her up for a tenant after this), two bodies discovered inside the flat, hers and Maddox's. Charred beyond recognition. DNA doesn't lie though, at least, that's what the public (and the people she cares about) is supposed to believe. There is no doubt whatsoever, the bodies belong to det. Katherine Beckett, age 32 and a man known as Cole Maddox, age unknown, the same man linked to her attempted assassination nearly exactly a year ago. There is a lot of speculation, Maddox probably seeking her out and trying to finish the job, resulting in the two of them fighting (her body had bullet holes in her, his numerous stab wounds, probably a kitchen knife or other similar tool), somehow they've started an open fire which spread while they were probably still fighting when it hit the gas pipes in her apartment and then there was a minor explosion that finished the place for good._

_No other people were hurt, yet Kate cannot shake the words stating there were two burned bodies found at the scene. She is sick to only think who those bodies belonged to. The FBI tells her it's all been just fabricated, but she isn't naïve. It had to be convincing, after all, she worked at the 12th. Naturally her friends would look into that, look at it from every possible angle. Hence, it had to be made convincing. _

_They asked her, when they had snatched her, asked her if there was something she could provide that would make the body look more like her. She knew they were asking for a personalized item, maybe a tattoo, a special birthmark they could plant onto the body or directly into her autopsy report. A lot of pressure was put on her to make her death as believable as possible. Especially in the face of her family and friends, they couldn't afford any lingering doubts and no digging; they needed instant acceptance. She knew what they were asking for and she knew there was one thing that would make even Castle beyond convinced the body's been hers. It made her giving up her mother's ring on its golden chain that much harder. She kept the watch though and would part of her ring only after promised the precious piece of family heirloom would find its way into her father's hands immediately after the funeral, straight from the evidence box. _

_And so Kate Beckett dies and life goes on even without her. She works with the FBI, tries to work as quickly as possible, yet still, on some days there is very little to do. They wait on some evidence or other specific testimonies, or they're trying to unearth some files. Those days are the toughest on Kate, for they appear like days wasted. _

_Those days she often spends uselessly browsing the internet, more often than not Googling Castle's name. After 'her death', she wondered, of course she wondered, about the reaction of the media. The only thing she found though was this tiny column in the Ledger stating that Mr. Richard Castle attended the funeral of his deceased muse, along with mother and daughter (God, that sickens her to a point she nearly has to run to the bathroom) and wishes the matter to be left out of the press, asking to be left alone in order to mourn his loss properly. Out of respect, the newspaper says, it will grant the wish. She scoffs, knowing Paula must be pulling all of her strings in order to keep him out of the newspapers, away from all those yellow paged vultures. She never felt more sympathetic and sorry for him for being famous._

_She browses his official webpage too, reads and rereads his Twitter account, but there's nothing but deadly silence on his end. Though there are hundreds of messages from his fans and readers, words of condolences and sympathy, there is not a single word fromCastle himself. She doesn't even want to start to dissect how that makes her feel. Mostly, she just feels empty. And terribly, oh so terribly lonely._

_She is dead to the world, dead to Castle. Gone, irreversibly, being mourned, grieved. It will hurt but it will pass. And then they'll go on with their lives, start the natural process of healing. She wonders how much that will take, hopes she will be back before the reality of her death really starts to sink in. She is - for the millionth time - glad at least her father was allowed to know. She doesn't want to think what would happen to him if he wouldn't. Would he turn back to the bottle? She wants to believe not. She definitely doesn't want to find out._

_The first week is the toughest. She works with the agents during the day, trying to reconstruct her murder board she used to have on her shutters – Maddox destroyed all of that before the FBI caught up with him, thank you very much - tries to retrieve all the information solely from her memory and link them all together with the information from Smith's file, finding the connections. Then late at night, when the agents finally leave for the day and she is left with only a handful of them staying behind for security reasons, the house suddenly becomes too quiet and she spends her evenings either rereading his books, going over her meager rescued photos collection or simply crying herself to sleep._

_She knows who the Dragon is. She finally has a name, something she craved for fourteen years. But it's not enough, it's not nearly enough, not even close. She has a name but otherwise she has nothing and no one. And they were all so right, oh so very right. It doesn't mean anything when you are alone to celebrate it._

_She hangs to her weekly phone calls with her father like to a lifeline, the only light on her horizon. _

_Weeks go by, has it been a month already? A whole month that she's been dead. She still Googles Castle daily, still gets disappointed at the lack of contact from him to the outside world. Ever since she knew him, he's always been online, no matter what, at least to some extend. Hell, even when being on an expedition somewhere in Siberia a couple of years back, he bragged how he kept online despite the closest civilization being hundreds of miles away._

_Now there's no note, not a word, not a single fucking sad smiley, absolutely nothing. It upsets and unsettles her to a whole new level. She is scared for him, despite the fact it makes her feel stupid for thinking her death could have such profound effect on him. Of course he would be upset and crushed, he loves her after all, she's never doubted that. And given the circumstances of how they parted, she has no doubt the news would bring him to his knees. Yet it's been a month and there still isn't a single line, a simple announcement anywhere where he usually spends all of his free time. "C'mon Castle," she whispers under her breath as she once again browses his pages, "just a quick note, a single line, give me just this one sign, please." He doesn't and it hurts. It feels like he's dead too. She doesn't want to think like that._

_She isn't allowed out of the house, not even the backyard. It makes her sick and edgy. There is a weight room in the basement, so she starts working out. She needs at least four hours a day just to be able to keep the edge off. The coffee at this place is crappy. Great. Another thing to remind her of Castle twenty more times a day. Just perfect._

_She calls her father every Sunday evening, six to seven. In her fifth week (God, she just wants to go *home* already), he opens on a sentence that makes her heart sink in her chest yet flutter with the faintest hint of hope at the same time._

"_Rick Castle called me last Thursday."_

_It's a huge opener, for neither has seen or heard of the man since the funeral. And even then, they didn't talk about it much. She remembers that awkward question she never thought to ask in her life: "So, how was my funeral?"_

_Her father's answer hasn't been a good one, yet she already expected that much. "It's been…bad, Katie. Just, …bad."_

_She had to gulp the fist that already formed in her throat in order to continue, offer something, anything, in means of some sort of compensation. "I'm sorry dad. I'm sorry that I made it so hard on you."_

_There was silence at the other end of the line. "It's not me you should be worried about," he said, and despite Kate knowing he didn't mean to accuse, she still heard it. It stung and she closed her eyes to the mental images assaulting her brain._

"_How did he handle it?" she forced out at last._

"_How do you think?"_

_She let the comment pass. "Did you two talk?"_

_He father's voice faltered. "He wasn't…he wasn't really in a state to talk." The statement made her double over. She sat down on the bed, the mattress dipping heavily under her frame, under the painful weight of her conscience._

"_He had his mother and daughter with him though. They seemed to offer a great deal of comfort," her father offered quietly. A tear slipped down her cheek as she silently listened. God it was so morbid, so bizarre, but she wanted to hear it all, no matter how masochistic in made her, she wanted it all. So she kept on listening, hoping her father would take the hint and elaborate._

"_Your friends from work came, too. Javier, Kevin and his wife Jenny, your friend Lanie too." She heaved a dry sob. "They were…God Katie, I cannot even begin to describe how they were, I was barely coherent myself…just the thought…," he stopped then, his own voice breaking._

"_I know. And I am so sorry," she repeated lamely, "I am here though, I'm alive and well. And it's not for long, I promise dad, when I come back, we'll go to the cabin, the both of us, to one of those super dull fishing trips of yours. I'll make it up to you, I promise," she offered and it sounded lame even to her own ears. She could hear his grunt of a response. They kept quiet for a moment, her father trying to breathe through whatever his mind was guiding him to, she on the verge of tears again._

"_A lot of your friends from the 12th came. The FBI chose a spot…the graveside…on the same cemetery your mother's been buried." He choked out. "Chose a different spot though, thank God." She felt sick of how much relief that little fact seemed to bring him._

"_I am sorry," she chanted anew, but this time, he brushed her off. "It's alright Katie, I am just glad you are fine and safe. Better this way, I know. It must be hard on you too…"_

_She didn't want to go into detail about that. She really couldn't. Not without…_

"_Did Castle tell you…? About…" how was she to phrase this? She blurted out the words before she could really filter through her mind how that might come out. Damn. _

"_About what?"_

"_Uhm…where I was the morning I supposedly died?" her cheeks blushed inexplicably. She was being stupid, simply and utterly stupid._

"_Uhm, no, should he?" her father asked, confused. She didn't know what to think, she didn't know why it seemed to break her heart that much more. What did she expect? That he would appear at her funeral and tell her father how he hooked up with his daughter the night before she died?_

_She shook her head violently, trying to clear it from those particular thoughts. "He brought flowers for you," his father uttered and she froze, knowing at that precise moment that she'd heard way more that she ever should have. "The most beautiful bouquet of blue forget-me-nots."_

_The phone nearly slipped from her grasp. Why, why would he torture her like that? Why would he do that to himself? "He brought one for your mother too. Stopped at her grave on his way home, I think." _

_She had to stop him, had to stop him now. She's been so *stupid* to even start the topic, why did she even ask? What was wrong with her? Did she get some secret thrill out of listening to how the people she loved missed her? How she ruined their lives?_

"_Dad, listen, I gotta go," her tone was curt and tight. She could barely keep her tears at bay. Maybe she should be really dead, maybe she deserved to be after willingly subduing the people she loved to this._

"_Katie," he started, sensing her anguish, "I'm sorry, I though you wanted to -…"_

"_No dad, no, don't you apologize. I did want to know, I just…listen, they are calling me…and I gotta go." she lied, "I'll talk to you in a week, 'kay?" she didn't wait for his answer, she just hung up. It took all her willpower not to smash the phone into the nearest wall._

_She wiped the tears angrily from her eyes (*she* didn't have any reason to be sad) and went to sit at her desk, opening her browser window. She went to his page, signed into her account and reread the first chapter of Frozen Heat – exclusively for subscribers only – for the hundreds time again. She didn't know why, but it gave her a strange sense of comfort. There were still things to look for in life._

_His book was about to be released in a two to three month time frame, so he should be doing the finishing touches by now. Another thing she screwed up for him, another thing she could never make amends for. She wished she could be there with him now, the two of them huddled in bed together, him leisurely typing away on his laptop, offering a question or suggestion here and there, teasing her with possible spoilers and asking her opinion on tiny bits of details. It was one of her most vivid and alluring fantasies._

_She looked at the cover of Frozen Heat again, loving the design, loving the writing, loving the book already. So maybe, if it offered *her* as much comfort just to read about them, then maybe *he* could draw some comfort from writing about them, her mind tried to bargain, for the alternative was gnawing at her insides. Hopefully, he had only the last finishing touches to add by the time she…died. She wondered if he would continue to write Nikki. She doubted it though; his muse was dead after all. Would he find a new one soon? _

_Ever since that first call after the funeral, whenever she talked to her dad, she asked if he heard from Rick Castle. But her father's answer's always been the same; "not since the funeral Katie, no". That was until today._

_TBC_

Thoughts? Reviews? Yes? Please?


	5. Chapter 4 Castle

Thank you wp1fan for the beta. You are awesome. Also ppl, who hasn't read it yet, go and check out her newest story – The Fix. It absolutely wonderful!

**CASTLE**

_A few days before the call from Gina, asking him for his Frozen Heat manuscript, Castle decides to crawl out of his hole a little, be a decent person for a couple of hours and not wallow in his own grief. Because there are other people hurting over Kate's loss, maybe even more so than him. People Kate would want him to look after the same way he once asked her to look out for his daughter if anything ever happened to him. _

_He hasn'tseen nor talked to anybody from the 12th since the funeral, and he still can't face them, not with so many shared memories of Kate. Yet there is one person he could, and definitely should, call. That night, Castle picks up the phone and calls Jim Beckett._

_They meet in a dinner the next day for lunch. The meeting is …awkward to say the least. But Rick leaves with a slightly lighter heart, seeing for himself that Jim Beckett seems to be doing - the circumstances considering - very well._

_Truth to be told, Castle has been a little scared what he might encounter; he isn't naïve after all. Of course he thought about what he knew from Kate used to be her father's weakness in the times of need, and he was more than a little anxious of what to think, how to act, if it came down to Jim Beckett starting drinking again. _

_He knew it was something that would break Kate's heart, but he also knew there was not much for Rick to do in the matter. Jim was not *his* father and he could hardly step into the man's life and demand for him to sober up if Jim decided to pick the liquor as his favorite poison once again. Castle even couldn't begrudge him that. Still, seeing Jim sober and obviously well fed and rested – the man definitely looked better than Rick himself – brought a tiny piece of relief for Castle._

_That day, Castle makes a mental promise to make sure it stays that way. Two weeks later, he makes the same call to Jim, asks him on another brunch. By their third meeting in another two weeks, it becomes sort of an unspoken routine for the two men. _

_There aren't many topics at first, so they stick to the classics. Weather, sports, food. Later, they switch to family, Alexis, Rick's mother, Jim's memories of Kate, although that topic is breached only on particularly optimistic or particularly bad days. They never talk about that day; for Jim, Castle will always remain Kate's friend, her partner. But Rick has a feeling the man knows more, at least definitely suspects there was more between him and his daughter. On some days when Castle simply cannot pretend, it's Jim who offers words of consolation, offers pieces of Kate, tries to guess what his daughter would say or think or do if she were there. On one hand, it weights heavily on Castle, the knowledge she's never going to be there to do-say-think it herself. But what Jim offers really does sound like Kate, and in a strange way, it often offers a balm to his aching soul._

_His mother offers a surprisingly steady rock for his existence. She is there for him and Alexis on a daily basis. She literally glues the family together. She takes care of Alexis on days where he shuns the outsides of his bedroom; brings him out of his depression - even by his ear, if she has to; force-feeds him food; plans his daily schedule he isn't willing to stick to. She chooses uncomplicated activities that offer an easy way to spend some so much needed quality time with his daughter but little effort on his part. Later, she forces him out the loft, walks with him in the park with their arms intertwined, chatting to him animatedly although she knows he's lost in his own thoughts. It helps._

_There are things she does for him he is not particularly proud of. He knows how she keeps his daughter occupied and busy, all to unload his duties as her father. So that he doesn't feel like the failure of a parent he is currently being to his daughter. She wordlessly wipes away sick still sticking to his mouth after his occasional hot date with a bottle of bourbon, hides the evidence of his weight-loss by silently restocking his closet with new shirts and pants. Envelopes him in her arms wordlessly, deliberately oblivious of the dampness in his eyes as she strokes his hair in a manner that reminds him of being a little boy again. _

_She does it all, and on top of it, with a flare and grace of a true actress. She is being the mother he always dreamed she was,only now he realizes he'd never needed her to be, not until now. He really doesn't know how he would have survived without her help the first few months._

_The day comes when Frozen Heat appears in the bookstores. He doesn't do any promo, any advertisement and despite Paula's feeble protests, no book signings. However, he does a private gathering in The Old Haunt, inviting Jim and their closest friends from the 12th. It's a small and quiet gathering, spent with a lot of stories, memories and a couple of tears from Lanie and Ryan. They don't talk about the dedication, there's really no need to._

"_Knowing you made me a better writer, loving you made me a better man. I hope wherever you are, you've found your peace."_

_He knew Paula and Ginadidn't like the dedication much; it appeared too dark and morbid for their liking. Castle doesn't really care though and they didn't dare oppose him on that one. He didn't care if the whole world considered his last statement as an author to be morbid, sappy, romantic or downright distasteful. He knew why he wrote what he wrote and he didn't want to change a thing. Besides, he always had an inclination to melodrama, so it only seemed fitting._

_At the end of the evening only Rick and Jim remain. They talk for a while after the others have already left, their conversation about sport stats and Alexis starting courses lulling somewhat. They are both nursing a glass of water, an odd sight in a bar, but they both have their reasons._

_Jim is the first to break the silence, his voice quiet and more than a little hesitant. "You must have loved my daughter very much to offer such a dedication."_

_His openness, as well as the statement itself,startles Castle. He doesn't know Jim Beckett like this, so direct and bold. He isn't sure he likes it, and his eyes shy away._

"_Yes I did," he answers after a beat, voice strangled and raw with pain. _

"_You know Rick, I think she loved you too," says Jim, and that odd sparkle of resolve in the older mans eyes rings a warning bell in Castle's mind. He doesn't know why, but something about the way Jim delivers the statement sends chills up his spine. He is so perplexed in fact, that he isn't in a state to properly appreciate the sentiment behind Jim's words. He eyes him for a moment, holds his gaze, searching for something yet Jim is the one to break the eye contact first, uncomfortably squirming in his seat._

_Castle shakes off the odd feeling, gulps the water down his suddenly dry throat, wishing it was something stronger. _

_That's when Jim comes with his odd request. He takes out his copy of Frozen Heat, slides it across the table towards Rick, a pen perched on the cover._

"_Could you sign this for me?" he asks and Castle gulps. He doesn't know how to feel about it, but he nods slowly in the end – he finds it impossible to deny Kate's father anything in a similar way he wasn't able to deny her. But as his hand reaches for the pen and book, Jim's own stops him, pinning his fingers to the cover._

"_This may sound like an odd request, but could you please…" he stops, squeezes his eyes shut, looks away. He has Castle's full attention now, "Would it be possible for you to sign the book as if this were a copy for Katie?"_

_Air whooshes out of his lungs, he can barely breathe. No. Absolutely not, he cannot sign a copy for Kate, cannot write another personalized dedication on top of this already heartbreaking one. He doesn't even try to rationalize the twisted logic behind Jim's request; he just can't and won't do it, period. He is just about to gently yet resolutely refuse, but something inside of Jim's eyes stops him, makes him reconsider. There is that familiar deep seeded pain and sadness in the man's eyes, the kind Castle hasn't seen in Jim since the funeral, though he certainly doesn't remember much - doesn't *want* to remember much – from that day. He is looking at Jim, looking at the man who is Kate's father and sees his own still too raw pain reflected back at him. What choice does he have? He slowly nods, cannot deny him, once again. He is Kate's father, for heavens sake. If this gesture would even hypothetically bring a smile to Kate's face, he's willing to do it. _

_He reaches for the book, takes the pen and opens the cover. His thoughts are one huge mess. He doesn't know what to write, what to tell her. The pen hovers above the page, but the words won't come. Jim appears to notice his hesitation, his struggle to come up with suitable words._

_He lays his withered hand on the page to get Castle's attention and when he catches his eyes he says, "Just write something as if she were still alive, not dead. Something that you think she'd want to hear, maybe something to make her smile." Again, there is this strange twinkle of urgency in Jim's eye, but Castle doesn't have time to dwell on it, because he's struck by an idea. Before he loses his nerve altogether and changes his mind, he starts to scribble down furiously, not in his most neat but definitely most enthusiastic handwriting, his tongue sticking out in concentration as his words protract more and more:_

"_Kate, I know you'd kill me for pouring out my heart for you on the very first page of a Nikki Heat book – I still don't think it's a slutty name, though Nikki certainly IS kinda slutty and don't argue, I know you actually like that about her despite that you'd rather be busted down to traffic than to admit to that – anyway, back to the topic – you, killing me, for declaring to the whole wide world that I love you. I know it seems like going behind your back of sorts, especially since I was barely able to tell you in person on the meager number of precisely two occasions. But seeing the light catch in your hair as it transformed into liquid copper under those early rays of sun on that morning I made you my famous marshmallow omelette only so you could refuse and go for pancakes instead, kind of gives me the right to shout it at the top of my lungs for the whole world to know. Still, sorry if that upsets you." _

_He is quickly running out of page and he has to scale down his script a considerable amount to squeeze all the words onto the single page, yet he still manages to scribble in the tiniest writing possible, finishing at the very bottom of the right corner: "PS - I also know you'd argue you'd get your peace if I ever stopped spinning my crazy yet awesome alien-CIA-mobster-zombie theories, but c'mon, Beckett, I know you love those too!" _

_He finally finishes, punching the dot for the exclamation mark with surprising vigor. He doesn't realize until he's finished that he is smiling, smiling so wide it nearly makes his face hurt. It catches him off guard. He looks at the book again, rereads what he's written and the smile slowly fades, like the sun disappearing behind a cloud. As if only then, he realizes this is not his copy of the book, this is a copy he wrote for Kate's father, and blood suddenly rushes to his cheeks. There is no way he can handle Jim Beckett back this book. _

_Panic rises in his chest as Jim makes a move to remove the object from his hands and Castle's digits come to clutch at the book, unwilling to let it go. His confession appears way too personal and intimate for anyone, let alone Jim Beckett, to read. _

_Jim raises his eyebrow, a spark of amusement in his eye, making Castle clutch the book even tighter. Jim's eyes soften and he covers Rick's hand with his own. _

"_Whatever it is Rick, I am sure I'll like it." Seeing the panic and doubt in Castle's eyes, Jim amends, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Alright, I won't *judge* then." _

_Slowly, ever so slowly, Castle lets the book go, already regretting it when he sees Jim turn it over and start reading his words. He quickly brings the glass of water to his lips, desperate for some liquid to moisture his suddenly dry throat yet has to curse inwardly for being so reckless and downing it all earlier in one huge gulp. He knows the moment Jim hits the part mentioning their 'morning after', for his eyebrows raise considerably, his mouth shaping a single surprised 'Oh'. Castle wishes for the earth to swallow him whole, right here, right now._

_Jim finishes slowly, but when his eyes move to Castle's again, there is no accusation, no distaste. Just quiet contentment, a hint of an amused spark even. _

"_Thank you, Rick. Thank you so much for this. Katie would have loved it," he is being so earnest, so genuinely grateful for this simple deed, Castle's throat closes on emotion with an iron fist. _

_There is a moment when neither man says anything then Jim uses his finger to tap a certain point on the page, his eyebrows raisingquestioningly, another hint – this time of playfulness – playing in his eyes. Castle can't understand how the man can handle this so well when he himself feels so tight, so on edge, he could snap apart into a thousand little brittle pieces. He looks at the spot Jim is pointing, tries to decipher his hastened untidy handwriting upside down. _

"_light…cat-ch…in your ha-hair…" _

_Oh. His chest constricts painfully. The memory still seems so fresh, so crisp and bright, especially in comparison with some others he has of her. He is scared to forget, scared he's forgetting already, so quickly. Some memories disappear nearly as quickly as her scent from his sheets and it terrifies him. He looks at Jim and despite his inner turmoil and sadness gives the man a sheepish look._

"_We, uhm…" he clears his throat and hides his eyes, "Just once." He offers his meager explanation and finally dares to look back at Jim, knowing he'll understand his meaning. That playful twinkle in his eyes grows and it makes Castle's chest clench even tighter, filled inexplicably with remorse._

_Does this mean they'd have her father's approval? He would have wanted it so badly. But why is Jim smiling? Why is the man smiling like there is nothing wrong with this world, this huge sad world with no Kate Beckett in it? Doesn't Jim's heart splinter in his chest the same way Castle's currently is? _

"_It was the morning she got killed," Castle suddenly blurts out, his filter gone with this moment of maddening heartache and his eyes fill with tears._

_All the amusement is immediately gone from Jim's eyes, surprise and something akin to dreadful comprehension clouding his eyes. "I'm so sorry son," he whispers, trying to catch one of Rick's hands, but he pulls them quickly off the table, brings one to his face to hastily wipe at his eyes. _

_He shakes his head. He really doesn't need this man's apologies. Not when he was the one to let Kate out of his door and sight that day. He never thought he would tell this to anybody, her father out of all people, but once that door's been opened, Rick cannot find the force to slam it back shut. "She said she was just going to change her clothes," he half-shouts in a trembling voice full of incomprehension and despair. "See, hers were crumpled and dirty after she got drenched in the thunderstorm the previous night." He explains. This memory is still way too fresh, maybe because he feels so damn guilty about it every single day. "She wasn't supposed to be long, she* promised* to be back by lunch." Castle looks at his hands nervously twitching in his lap, tries to breathe, tries to quell the awful flutter of his heart in his chest, the tight pressure on his ribcage. "I offered to go with her but she declined…" a tear falls from his eye, but he doesn't seem to notice, "I should have gone with her, I should have gone…" his voice breaks and he looks at Jim then, helplessness and guilt and challenge to blame him for all of this, mixed in his eyes. _

"_Rick," Jim starts, but obviously doesn't know how to continue, what to say. But that's alright, because there really is nothing to be said. He should never let her go alone. Jim half stands in his side of the booth and Castle thinks he's about to leave, but then her father merely bends over the table, stretching out so he can get a hold of Castle's hands, dragging them back onto the table with his own._

"_Listen to me Rick," he squeezed Castle's hands, his own eyes suddenly glassy yet voice firmly determined. There is a message he needs to pass along to Castle, for his daughter's sake. "Whether you had or hadn't gone with her that day, it probably wouldn't change a thing."_

"_You don't know that," Castle utters desolately._

_In fact, Jim knows, but he can hardly tell the man currently breaking into pieces in front of him. He shakes his head. "What happened to Katie wasn't your fault, it wasn't anybody's fault but the men who chose to destroy our lives fourteen years ago."_

_Castle's still not convinced. He put her in the crosshairs, he dug the damn file up, he let her leave on her own that morning._

"_Listen Rick," presses Jim, still holding his hands, suddenly looking impatient and aggravated. "I think, no, I actually *know* for a fact my daughter would never want you to blame yourself for this, alright?" Castle drops his gaze. _

"_With all due respect sir, neither you nor me know what she'd have wanted, because she is not here." His voice doesn't hold any hostility, just tired resignation. Jim lets go of him then, runs a frustrated hand through his grey hair. He looks restless, angry even. There is not much more to be said. After a while, Castle breaks the silence._

"_Thank you," he says, some of his composure returning, the blame he so carefully hides locked up tight inside of him again. Jim looks at him questioningly and Castle's eyes fall to the book._

"_It really made me feel good there for a while," he says with a hint of a smile, wistfulness reflected in his eyes. _

"_No, thank *you* Rick. You have no idea…" he stops abruptly, obviously agitated, "Gosh I wish I could…" he stops again, slamming an angry fist against the table, shaking his head in fury, chewing on his lip as he ponders about something, hard. The gesture reminds Castle of Kate. He doesn't know what brought this sudden outburst, but he is glad Jim's finally shown at least some sign that he is too, going through the grieving process. Because his rather calm and understanding attitude started to unsettle Castle a great deal more._

_Jim finally turns back to Rick, an odd mixture of resolve and defeat on his face. He grabs the book, cradles it tightly to his chest._

"_You hang in there tight Rick, alright?" he lowers his head to catch the younger man's eyes. "I promise you, it won't be like this forever." _

_Castle wants to believe the man, so badly. But right now, the wound is still too fresh and there are certain types of wounds Castle doesn't believe even time will be able to heal. Still, he gives the man a nod, out of respect and because he sees how much he is trying. And suddenly Castle knows, he just knows, that Jim is doing this for his daughter, the same way Castle keeps an eye on him too. What they share in not just the loss of Kate, a beloved person, daughter and lover, but the will to hang on and protect what was so dear to her._

_Jim rises to his feet, offering a hand to Rick. When he takes it, Jim yanks at it with surprising strength, enveloping Castle in a sudden one-armed hug. "Hang in there, son! She always had you for a fighter. You better not go letting her down now."_

_With those words hanging in the air, Castle watches Jim Beckett walk away._

_TBC _

I know, it's so sad and I am so mean. Still, reviews might prompt me to write more cheerful stuff...Nah, probably not. Still, they'll definitely make my day, so send them on! *makes grabby hands*


	6. Chapter 5 Beckett

_**Thank you, Ann.**_

Also, thank you all for those awesome reviews. Special wave to those who left anonymous or unsigned review I couldnt reply to, thank you! Every single review is extremely welcome and most cherished, keeping me writing. You guys are really wonderful!

**BECKETT**

"_Rick Castle called me last Thursday."_

_It's her fifth week at the safe house when her father opens their routine Sunday evening call with this sentence. It has the effect of a silent bomb._

_Five weeks of absolute silence. No message online, no call, no sighting in the paper, no official announcement. It was as if Richard Castle fell from the face of earth and for a little less than the past five weeks it slowly ate at her conscience. _

_And now her father tells her he's called him, he's finally called, and she wants to scream at her dad to just go on but her throat is closed shut._

"_Katie? Are you still there?"_

_It takes a moment for her to rasp out a feeble; "Yeah dad. Still here." She doesn't go further, she can't. Hopefully, he'll take the hint._

"_He sounded okay, I guess." Leave it to her father to cut to the chase. A breath she didn't know she's been holding leaves her lungs in a rush._

"_What did he want?" she asks but then amends quickly, disliking how she phrased the question. Castle rarely asked for things. Especially in comparison to her. Figure out I want to be the first to read your book, figure it out on your own, don't date my friend from college, preferably don't date at all, let me call you, give me time to work through my issues, the list seemed endless. She might not have always used the exact words, but the meaning was the same. Castle, on the other hand, was always so selfless in his needs. She never fully appreciated him, too blinded by her own issues. She wishes, now more than ever, things could have been different. "I mean, why did he call you?"_

"_He wanted to meet. Just to talk." There is silence, she waits for more. "I think he wanted to check up on me, see how *I* was doing."_

_Oh, Castle._

"_Did you two meet yet?"_

"_Yes. Yesterday, for lunch." She doesn't know why, but the answer gets her off guard. She doesn't know why she expected a different one._

"_And?"_

"_Katie," it's the first time her father hesitates. It makes her cringe. "I know you wanted me to let you know if I heard of him, you were worried, I get that, but you really want to know the details?" _

_She knows what he's hinting at. The last time they had a conversation like this, it was about her funeral and she ended the call hanging up on him, unable to process what news she was receiving. Still, she wants to know, needs to know, what she's done to him, so she can hopefully make it right one day. She just…she needs to hear about him, know about him, in any capacity she can, even if it's the ugly part. They've barely had one night together and she already misses him like they were married for years. In a way, they probably were. She screws her face at her last thought, which came out unexpectedly out of nowhere…she is just really tired. _

"_Yes dad," she offers quietly. "I want to hear the truth, even if it's ugly." When he's still quiet at the other end of the line, unconvinced, she adds; "I can handle it, I promise."_

_Her father gives a mighty tired sigh, and she suddenly feels sorry for making him her lightening rod in all this mess. "I'm sorry," she offers, but he's already brushing her off with a grunt._

"_It was actually nice. Or, as nice as it could get, I guess. We had some coffee, there were silences. Mostly, he asked about me, how I was doing, if I had any plans for near future."_

_She conjures up the mental image, her father and Castle sitting in a non-descript dinner, their broad backs hunched over a cup of coffee, talking. She wishes she could have been there; wishes things could be different altogether. Wishes she could sit there with Castle, as a couple, simply meeting her father for brunch. Yeah well, the things she wishes could go differently…_

"_He knows, doesn't he? I mean, you've told him? About my drinking?" her father's voice is unsure, ashamed, and that snaps her back to reality. She feels guilty._

"_Yes," she admits truthfully. "Did he say something? Does it bother you?" she cannot help but add the second part. _

_He seems to give it a bit of thought first. "No, it doesn't bother me." He says at last and she can breathe a little more freely again, "And no, he didn't say anything. More the way he was dancing around it like a clumsy elephant in a china shop, hinting and asking way too obvious questions." She hears the smile in her father's voice and notices she has one on her face too._

"_Yeah," she gives a small laugh. "That sound just like Castle."_

"_He cared about you, Katie," her father utters and the past tense he uses makes her heart stop in her chest for a moment before it restarts again in an irregular, fluttering beat. Jim must realize what he'd said for he hastens to continue, "I mean, I didn't mean it like *that*. I just, I mean…he still cares. A great deal. But it's ... it's weird Katie. To have to think about you, talk about you, in the past tense. Sitting in a booth across a man who looks like his whole world has been snatched out from underneath his feet because he thinks you are dead."_

_She lets his last comment go for the moment, scared by the sudden urgency, the neediness, the despair in her dad's voice._

"_You can't tell him dad, you just *can't*," she says with an urgency of her own, understanding the thoughts floating through her father's head only too well. There is no greater wish for her at the moment but to be able to let Castle know the truth, but she can't. It makes her feel like the bad guy, but this is for his own protection, for her father's protection, for hers too, but that's not the important part right now. What matters is that they keep this quiet, keep her secret safe until she's allowed to be home again. Even if that means it may cost her Castle's affection, even then. His safety is her highest priority, it has to be._

"_I know Katie, I just though that if I-" _

"_NO!" she shouts, and there is no room for argument in her voice anymore. She takes a few deep breaths, gulps, tries to calm down her already frail nerves. "No dad, I am sorry, but you know you can't. Nobody can know. It would put your life in danger, put *his* life in danger too," God, he has a daughter and a mother and she knows the moment her mother's murderers catch something is off they'll sniff around and do absolutely anything that'd be necessary to get to her through him, through her father, and she absolutely cannot allow that, no matter how much she craves it. "It could cost me my life." She hates herself a little for playing this card on her dad but she knows it's the most effective one, the only one he'll ever listen to. She hears him take a deep breath, then sigh at the other end of the line. He sounds…old. Is that even possible, to hear something like that through the phone?_

"_Okay Katie. I promise your secret is safe with me." He sounds beaten and although she feels guilty about it, it reassures her a great deal too._

"_Thank you. Now tell me some more about what you two talked about."_

_As it turns out, their initial meeting turns into a habit. They meet once a fortnight, her father informs her, and every week the two of them don't meet Rick gives him a short check up call. _

_It pleases her on so many levels she cannot even start to count. For one, she keeps an eye on Castle through her father. Two, Castle keeps an eye on her dad. The thought warms her heart more that she'd ever be able to tell. Three, this keeps her updated, at least a little, on the lives of the people she left behind. Mostly it's not happy, but it's still news which keeps her feeling a little less like a complete stranger, like a ghost. _

_Before she knows it it's been already three months and they still aren't nearly finished yet. It unsettles her greatly. She gets into arguments with the agents she works with on the case as well as the ones who simply stay for protection. It's going too slow for her liking; what the hell takes them so long?_

_The agents start to eschew her whenever and wherever they can; she's not an easy person to be around these days. She doesn't give a damn, let them have it; for keeping her here, locked up, while everybody's lives are moving on out there. They said it would take a couple of weeks, months, tops, and still, here she is and they are nowhere near the end._

_She works out more, drives her body nearly to the ground every day so she's able to get at least a couple hours of fitful sleep during the night. She looses weight, becomes all thin skin, protruding bone and tight muscle. Dark circles form under her eyes, become her constant companion. Her skin is white and translucent, looks unhealthy. No wonder, she hasn't really seen sunlight in about three months. Summer goes by in a blur and she suddenly realizes it's already September._

_She checks her computer one night, looking up Frozen Heat's date release. It's about to happen in less than a week. She wishes she had a way to get her hands on a copy. She's thought about asking one of the agents, humiliation be damned, she needs that book like she needs her next breath. It a part of him, of them, and she needs something new to give her hope, to hang on to while she waits in this god-forsaken limbo of a life in hiding. _

_Her father calls on Sunday night, asks her how she's doing. As usual, she tries to hide her growing depression. She's never going to leave this place, is she? They are keeping her here for good, creating a personal hell for her. She must have done something really awful in her previous life if karma hates her this much._

_Her father senses her gloomy mood, the way he's sensed it for the past few weeks. God knows she tried not to let on how much it gets to her, this forced solitude, but he's her father and he could always tell._

"_I am sorry it's so hard on you, Katie," he says probably for the millionth time and she has the urge to break something. Or someone, she doesn't care. She feels like screaming, clawing her way through the walls of this prison of a room. "I've got something for you, Katie." That gets her attention._

"_Oh?"_

"_But I don't know how to get it to you. It's really important though. Do you think you could ask somebody to deliver it to you?" There is hope in his voice. She doesn't know what it is, this something he has for her, but she can tell it's important to him. She doesn't want to let him down._

"_I can try to ask dad," she offers, though her voice holds little hope._

"_That would be great, please do so. It's really, really important." _

_Suddenly, a cold knot fests itself in the pit of her stomach. "Dad, did something happen? Are you alright?" she asks, hyper aware as her mind finally breaks through the haze that's been meddling inside of her brain for the past weeks. _

"_Yeah, yeah, I am all fine and well, I promise," her father hastens to assure her and she hears genuineness in his voice. It reassures her and she exhales in relief. "It's really just a little something I got you and I wanted you to have it. Surely, its not asking too much from them to deliver a package, after all, you've been cooperating with them for nearly three months. I am sure they can do this small favor for you."_

_She finds she's nodding her head along as he speaks. He is right. She's really been playing by their book this whole time, it's about time they did something for her. Or otherwise, she'll surely go crazy in here, taking one or two of them along with her in the process of loosing her mind. "Yeah, alright," she finds herself agreeing. "I'll definitely ask them."_

_She can nearly hear her father smile at the other end of the line. He surely must have detected the renewed vigor in her voice. Oh, he's good, she thinks._

"_Anyway, anything else you'd like me to send to you? Something from home, maybe?"_

_She really, really thinks about asking him to get her a copy of Frozen Heat into the package of whatever he has for her, but for some reason, she doesn't dare to ask in the end. She doesn't even know why the thought of asking her father for a copy of Castle's book makes her all squirmish, it just does._

"_Katie?" he prompts, snapping her out of her reverie. "Uhm, no dad, nothing I can think off." A thought hits her. "Oh, dad, one question though."_

"_Yeah?"_

_"They promised me they'd return my ring, I mean mom's ring, to you as soon as they could. Did they? Did you get it?"_

"_Oh yeah, a police man came by to return it to me from evidence a week after your…" he doesn't need to finish that sentence. Her death, yeah, fuck._

"_Do you want it back? Shall I add it to the package?" her father asks, drawing a logical conclusion._

"_No!" she hastens to reply. She doesn't want it, not right not, not here. She doesn't even know if she ever wants to wear it. All of a sudden, the ring comes to represent something that's holding her back from everything she's ever wanted. It's just a phase, she knows, but she doesn't want the ring back. At least not yet. "No dad," she softens her voice a little, doesn't want her dad to get the wrong impression. "Just hold on to it for me, okay? I'll take it back once I return. Besides," she adds, a logical conclusion coming to her aid in order to support her argument, "Someone might come by and ask about it, you know. After all, it was evidence found on my body. Better it stays with you."_

"_Okay," her dad replies, not thoroughly convinced by her words and somewhat taken aback by her forceful reply to his inquiry. She throws a look at her watch, that is, her father's watch, checks the time._

"_It's nearly seven, I've gotta go," she says, and today, she actually regrets getting off the phone with her dad a great deal. She feels like talking tonight. Which is kind of strange. Not unpleasant, only strange. She's really going crazy in here. Lonely-loonily crazy. Yeah, that one's correct._

"_Okay Katie. Stay safe," her father says, starting to wrap up the call. She already feels abandoned._

"_You too dad, take care, okay?"_

"_Always," he says with a smile in his voice and her heart skips a beat. Oh, Castle. "Just don't forget to ask them about delivering my package for you, alright?"_

"_I'll do so," she says somewhat choked. With a final; "Goodnight dad," she ends the call._

_She doesn't forget to ask about the package, and is actually surprised when they don't even protest much. Truth is, they are probably hoping a bit of home, whatever that is, will bring her some peace of mind and she'll stop biting their heads off for looking at her the wrong way. Either way, they let her call her dad the next night to let him know to send the package to an FBI agent in the New York field office who's got nothing whatsoever with her case, who will pass it on to the agents assigned to her case. This way, it'll be less suspicious than if somebody from the agency came to pick it up directly. But hey, who knows? How often does one send non-descript packages to the FBI?_

_She decides she doesn't care. If somebody's in on her scam, they'd havefound her by now. If they should do so in the end, by following a simple package delivered from her dads, so be it. She inwardly shrugs, realizing it should probably scare her how careless she's lately become. She shortly wonders what her father is sending her, but finds she's not even that interested. Nothing seems to move her these days._

_She is wrong, oh so, so wrong._

_The package arrives three days later, size of a book, she notes immediately, her heart beating wildly in her chest. She flees to her room, shortly wishing she had a key so she could lock herself up. She nearly clenches her fists in anger when she notices the sides have been unwrapped and wrapped again – somebody must have checked it first. It feels oddly violating. _

_As rushed as she was to get to the relative privacy of her room when she received the small square parcel, she is suddenly slow. She wants to savor the moment, for she's sure now, without a doubt, what the package holds. It's a book, that one's already clear; the shape, weight, feel of it indicating nothing else. Yet she also knows *what* book it is, there really is only one book her father would send her now, wouldn't he? _

_Oh dad. He still knows what her heart desires even without having to have it voiced. She slowly, nearly reverently unwraps the book, stares at the blue cover. Itlooks so damn familiar, despite the copy's still fresh smell of paint from the print. _

_She cradles the book to her chest, her hands slightly shaking. She is suddenly a bit scared what she'll find inside; the dedication. _

_She hopes there is none, she really hopes there isn't, or that he's already had one in place before she supposedly died. She doesn't want to read about herself in the dedication, not in *that* context anyway._

_She tells herself she is being ridiculously cowardly, forces herself to open the cover at last. A couple of pages automatically turn, the book's been previously held open on a specific page._

_She knows what page it is. Her heart stops. She sees the dedication, but her eyes and brain don't connect the words together, because the official dedication is obviously not the only one. There is a personalized one included, in the most familiar handwriting, taking up nearly the entire page, flowing around the printed text. _

'_Kate, …' it starts, and her hands start to tremble so badly the words are a blur. Maybe it's not the fault of her hands though, because her eyes are suddenly wet too. She tries to grasp the gesture behind it, tries to comprehend how this is possible. She is supposed to be dead, after all. Yet here she is, holding a hand-written dedication to her, made by Castle. Her heart is in her throat. Did her father tell him? No, she knows with absolute certainty he wouldn't dare._

_And yet, she just *knows* her father had everything to do with this. She doesn't know yet whether she is glad. She knows she wants to be, but for now, she is only thoroughly confused, the emotions she is feeling too much to handle. Like she's a person starving to death for weeks who's been served and feast and they tried to eat all at once, it's too much._

_She closes the book, presses it to her chest, forces herself to breathe as she tries to quench her sobs. She hasn't even read a word yet and she's already worked herself up so badly she's unable to continue._

_She takes her time, lies on the bed, the book still cradled to her middle. She closes her eyes, lets the feeling envelope her. For once, she lets the good one's dominate her thoughts. Castle held this book; his fingers skimmed its pages._

_She lays there a moment or two, maybe even ten or twenty minutes, she doesn't know. She only knows that an hour ago, she had a problem with feeling much of anything, felt like she was dead inside. Now she has a hard time keeping all the emotions from bursting out, in what shape or form she doesn't even want to know._

_She finally calms enough to climb high on the bed into a sitting position, her back coming to rest against the headboard, the book perched against her bent knees. With a deep breath, she finally opens the book anew, this time intent on reading the dedication. The printed first, she reminds herself. _

"_Knowing you made me a better writer, loving you made me a better man. I hope wherever you are, you've found your peace."_

_Her heart breaks into a million pieces. This time, the tears come in unbidden, huge torrents of big fat tears. She lets it all out, what she's been hiding deep inside of her heart for so long. She lets herself cry for everything she's lost and still has to lose. She cries for the man who wrote these words, a man she's been denying herself for so long it was nearly too late. A man, who was willing to wait for her for four damn years only to have just a single night with her. And still, here he is, bearing his heart and soul on the pages of his latest book for the whole wide world to see, all for her. _

_She doesn't deserve him, she could live a thousand lives and still not deserve him. But God she is keeping him. If there is a single chance for them left, she will take it and make the absolute best of it, she'll make it count. Because that's what they've always been about, beating the odds._

_She doesn't open the book that night anymore, despite the strong urge to read his other, even more personalized dedication and the book itself. This is enough for now._

_She cries herself to sleep that night, hoping the person who's been waiting for her for so long will be willing to wait just a little bit longer._

_TBC_

Reviews are like candy, sweet and unhealthy, yet still SOOO good!


	7. Chapter 6 Castle

Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! Those of you who want to return to the present, don't, we are slowly and surely getting there, give me a couple more chapters and we'll return to the plot of the Prologue. Until then, a little more of the backstory.

**CASTLE**

_The first three months fly by in a blur. The very first one is a nightmare; the following two simply pure torture as he is forced to finish Frozen Heat, his last book of Nikki and most probably the last of his life. _

_The next three are spend with Alexis and Mother trying to cheer him up and bring him back on his feet to resemble at least some kind of normal again. He is agonized to walk out his front door into the world, always hiding behind dark glasses these days._

_He brings her flowers, every month, one bouquet for her, one for her mother. He never stops too long, the mere sight of the cemetery sickening him, but he cannot bear not to go visit her grave at least once in a while. Leavesstart to fall and before he knows it, first snow silently floats down to cover the ground. The flowers he brings her now die way too soon, freeze to death against her chilled tombstone._

_But he is doing better, they all say so and he believes them. Sometime around October, he finally persuades Alexis to move out to campus with her friends from school, convinces her he is alright on his own,well enough at least so she can to finally leave the nest and start living her own life. For the most part, it's true; he can be alright on his own now. He just doesn't like company much. _

_Paula occasionally calls him with an update on the sales of Frozen Heat. "Skyrocketing!" she lisps into the receiver, obviously delighted. She mentions the offer again, three more books of Nikki, great deal, awesome money. He nearly tells her to go shove her offer to a place where the sun doesn't shine, but manages to decline relatively politely. Castle may have lost much, but he didn't lose his manners. _

_It's getting colder and colder outside, a good excuse for him to stay put more often, hiding away in his loft. He spends his time reading some books, predominantly classics, runs movie marathons with Alexis. Mostly old movies or some easy chick flicks, nothing too serious. He's got that enough for a lifetime. _

_Christmas is closing in on them slowly and realizing he doesn't have a single present yet sometime around the 15th of December, Rick panics. Two days later and his credit card far lighter than any of the previous years, he's mostly set. He went with expensive and impersonal this year, his heart just wasn't in it. Or, if he is to be honest with himself, his heart was mostly bleeding every time he spotted a gift amongst the shelves upon shelves of seasonal goods, thinking how Kate might like this or Kate might like that._

_It would be their first Christmas together and he is painfully aware of that. He reprimands himself for being so melodramatic; they had merely one night together. What makes him think they'd happily thrive to spend Christmas together? And yet he knows. He would just make it happen, because she was for keeps. _

_He feels a little guilty over Alexis' gifts, he knows she likes them personal and warm. He hopes she might let it slide this year and makes a mental note to do better next year. Yeah, definitely better. Glad he has finally gifts for everyone he can think of (and one person he has no gifts for but can't stop thinking about) he slowly makes his way home feeling elated._

_Twenty minutes later, he has a panic attack at one of the festively decorated shop displays when he spots a beautiful female winter coat with a matching scarf. He knows Kate would love it; hell, Kate would probably wear something like it by now. _

_He hurries home before the tears that had formed in his eyes spill. He's being completely stupid._

_He hosts a humble Christmas party at The Old Haunt, invites the boys, Jenny, Lanie and Jim. The gathering is mostly quiet and reminiscent once again, despite the festive mood of the season. They exchange small gifts, some stories, memories again. He misses her, so much._

_He has a little more to drink that night and feels mortified the next morning when he realizes it was Jim Beckett who put him in his cab. He can only hope that whatever he was blabbering about to the man the whole time they waited for the car to arrive was just some stupid drunken nonsense._

_Despite being glad he got to see his friends from the 12th, Castle realizes it's been only just maybe the fourth or fifth time he's seen them since Kate's death. He loves them all dearly and some of his best memories are connected with these people, but he finds it incredibly hard to be around them. Because just about everything about them reminds him of Kate._

_He understands now what he couldn't before, the complicated relationship Kate and her father have shared after her mother's death. Before, he often wondered how she could stay so detached from her only remaining parent, why she wouldn't want to have him more close to be able to spend more time with him. He thought she might still feel some measure of resentment and disappointment over her father's drinking back then, but he understands better now. It's hanging out with people you share your loss with that makes it difficult, because most memories and good stories you have together involve the person who isn't there to share them anymore. When Castle looks at Lanie, what he sees is Kate's best friend, always trying to bring her out of her comfort zone, making her life a little more fun. When he looks at Esposito, he sees the big brother who always had Kate's back and was always in to play along a good practical joke on him. He looks at Ryan and sees the gentle smile she always had for the youngest detective, sees her radiant expression at Ryan and Jenny's wedding, feels the softness of her dress and the alluring scent of her perfume when her wavy hair brushes his cheek as they danced, swaying gently to the music._

_Yes, it's hard to spend time with his friends from the 12th these days,despite that he loves them dearly, because the most important thing they all have in common is missing from their lives; and it's way too painful to even think let alone to talk about it._

_Surprisingly, it's Jim's company that soothes and calms him the most. Jim never asks him questions, never the usual horrible "How are you doing?" He never pokes him, demanding if he's eating or sleeping or getting better. They both know the truth, no need trying to sugarcoat it._

_It's their last encounter before Christmas, the biggest feast of the season only a couple days away. Rick has thought long and hard about his present for Jim. He doesn't even know the man, nothing connects them together but the surprisingly strong bond of two men who lost the one woman they loved. It seems enough for Rick to consider him nearly family. Hell, Jim *is* family. He's Kate's family and Kate's been Rick's, if not by law then by heart._

_He buys him a set of nice fishing hooks, something he's been listening Jim rant about quite a couple of times since they started meeting. Jim looks pleased. He doesn't have a present for Rick and he looks momentarily a little embarrassed about that, but that's okay with Rick. Jim has already given him enough, although Castle will never be able to properly express his gratitude. _

_In a spur of emotion towards the older man and before he can do anything about it, Castle's blurting out a Christmas dinner invitation. Yet,even before he has time to think about what his mother and Alexis would say if he showed up with Jim Beckett at their Christmas table – though he likes to think they wouldn't mind – Jim politely declines the offer._

_He has plans of his own, he tells him quietly, his eyes never meeting Castle's and Rick thinks he understands. His own eyes shy away._

"_Of course, I understand. Still, if you change your mind, be it today or Christmas morning, or if you just want to talk, you know where to find me. Don't hesitate to call, alright?" he offers gently then adds in an even softer tone, "Nobody should be alone this time of the year."_

_Jim's eyes blur at this; pain, sadness and discomfort following in quick succession, but when he looks back at Castle, there is this quiet determination in his eyes he's seen back all those months ago when Jim asked him to sign the last Nikki Heat book for him. For Kate. _

"_Have a nice Christmas with your family Rick," Jim says, "I know that Katie would want you to have one. She was always amazed how warm and welcoming your family could make her feel in your home. I am sure that kind of atmosphere only intensifies during feast days. So try to enjoy the holidays and the company of your mother and daughter as much as you can, alright?"_

_He would lie if he said he wasn't completely taken aback by what Jim just said. He never knew Kate talked about him with her father, talked about his mother or Alexis, about her visits to their loft. His heart aches. He still doesn't know so much about her. He'll never get to know more about her._

_It's this thought that saddens him the most, lets the tight chilly knot in the pit of his stomach flare to life again. _

_He gulps then nods at Jim, unable to speak. He wants Kate back, he doesn't care how; he just wants her back with a fierceness bordering on physical pain. God, why is that so much to ask? _

_When they part ways in front of the diner, Jim envelopes Castle in an unexpected hug. Castle is surprised to find he appreciates the gesture more than he could ever say. _

_The two weeks before Christmas are extremely draining and mentally challenging on him. That's when the dreams start again. He hasn't had them ever since he submitted his last Nikki Heat manuscript to Gina and started on the sleeping pills, but he doesn't take them anymore, and the last days took a toll on him, pushing his mental guard down._

_He wakes in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, moaning her name as he blindly reaches for her, but his bed is cold and empty. The dreams are never exactly the same yet all too familiar, always some twisted variation of the sickening truths he knows by heart, a mosaic of his every regret and horror. _

_He dreams of that morning, that should be their first but not their last together, and he doesn't let her go this time, simplywon't allow it. Still, when he turns with the mugs of coffee in his hands, she's not there anymore. He rushes out of his apartment, trying to call her on her phone but she won't pick up, the voicemail on the other end of the line filling his belly with dread. He reaches her street just in time to watch her apartment blown to pieces, the heat of the blast warming his face in the cool night's air. He fights his way through the rubble, blindly searching for her. He calls her name but she won't answer; he reaches the tub, but she isn't there. There is blood everywhere, a burned body, but somehow, he knows it's not her. He's in her second apartment now. The rubble is still there, the sickening smell of explosives mixed with burned flesh. They are bodies everywhere, limbless, moaning, but he's only drawn to one person. There is a woman lying on the stairs leading to her rooftop garden and he knows with absolute crippling certainty it's her. Blood pools underneath her broken body, twisted in odd shapes and angles on the stairs. He rushes forward, lifts her head with his shaking hands. Her eyes are open, unfocused, but upon his touch, she looks at him. There are a few rounds of ammo in her chest and he knows she's beyond saving. He sobs, his eyes blurring. Half her face is burned black, air full with the smell of singed hair. "Kate," he rasps, "Kate." She can barely move, barely speak, yet she manages a silent accusing plea; "Why didn't you stop me? Why did you let me go?" He is forced to relive as her life leaves her body, the lights going out in her eyes, a single silent tear rolling down her cheek and disappearing in her hair._

_There are other dreams too. Where she gets shot, burned, killed, mutilated, gunned down, stabbed or hanged, over and over again like she's some kind of hunted animal. He is never on time, always too late to save her but never too late to watch her die. Sometimes, she's accusing, sometimes she is silent, sometimes she just kisses him; those are the better versions. And sometimes he tells her he loves her. Sometimes he wakes in the middle of the dream, sometimes he wakes after what feels like hours sitting at the side of her dead body. Sometimes he's at the cemetery, watching her get shot or shooting her himself, all through the crosshairs of a sniper's rifle, only to be the one to bury her afterwards. Sometimes the grave is already there, sometimes he has to dig it with his own hands. Sometimes her family and friends are there, sometimes he is alone. Sometimes the dreams are just dreams, sometimes way too explicit horrors and sometimes simply too close to the truth; a mere reliving of his worst memories. Sometimes he rushes after her gurney to the hospital, watching Lanie trying to pump life back into her heart, sometimes it'sthat bloody cemetery again; sometimes he's back at her funeral and his subconscious mind supplies all the details his consciousness tried to displace from his brain. He smells the flowers and the grass, hears the music and the sobs, sees the grieving friends and the snow white coffin. These are the worst. _

_He starts taking the pills again, and by the time New Year rolls around he feels slightly better. New year, fresh start, that's what he tells himself. He makes a New Year's resolution; he's burying his grief for good. He takes the photo away from his desk that day, shoves it along with the black notebook in the very bottom drawer of his desk, won't take it out for a couple of days. He actually feels better, lighter somehow._

_Then, one day middle a very frosty January, he switches on the TV and all hell breaks loose again. _

_TBC_

Thoughts? Please?


	8. Chapter 7 Beckett

Again, thank you for all those wonderful responses to the fic. I am truly overwhelmed. And yes. Keep the coming. :D

**BECKETT**

_It's Christmas Eve. She can see the snow behind the windows of her room, watches as it falls silently to the ground. There is no work today, nothing to do. Nearly all of the agents went home already, only two stayed behind for security reasons. Because FBI agents have families they want to spend Christmas with too, right?_

_Nobody seems to care that she might also have a family she would like to spend her Christmas with. At least not by the pace they take care of things. Damn, she should have been home for months by now. It's fucking Christmas and she's still stuck here, in this prison of a room; four walls, table, chair, bed, meager possessions. Couple more books than she came here with. Still, the place looks as grim as ever._

_The light outside is slowly fading, sun setting down soon. Due to the snowing, the light has been dim the whole day. Yet now it grows even darker and she simply lacks the energy to stand up and switch the light on. No reason to anyway. _

_She lies on the scratchy covers of her bed, bored, lonely and on the verge of tears. It's__Wednesday today. Which means she won't even get her father on the phone tomorrow. On Christmas, out of all the times of the year. _

_She is so tired. Tired and fed up with this whole arrangement, thinking for the millionth time that month that she should have better taken her chances with the snipers. Then she regrets it instantly, because this is better, this is safer. If not for her then surely for Castle, his family, her father and their friends. If her being imprisoned here means they are at least a little bit safer with her gone, it's worth it. She knows this well although it doesn't always feel that way. The air inside her room is suffocating despite that she airs the room nearly constantly now, the place chilly and cold. She has still a difficult time breathing._

_Sometimes, she doesn't know who she is anymore, is afraid she won't know how to function properly once outside the confinement of these four hated walls. _

_Enough. She has to do something or she'll completely disintegrate__in this stupid place; her limbs turning into wood, brain into mush._

_She gets up from the bed and throws herself to the floor, forcing herself to do a hundred push-ups. She switched to her back, does another hundred of sit-ups, her pace frantic and desperate._

_She collapses onto the ground afterwards, spent and sweaty, aching and still completely dissatisfied. There is nothing here to do and she is going crazy. _

_She dislikes television, there is a reason she's never had one herself. And she already read each and every book in the whole god-forsaken place at least three times.__She can go online, but the internet only keeps on reminding her how quickly life is progressing out there, without her._

_She misses her dad. She misses Castle. She misses Lanie. And Ryan, and Espo. She even misses Gates. How pathetic is that?_

_Tears push themselves into her eyes but she wills them away. They are no use to her._

_She stands up, clicks on the switch, watching the room illuminate with light. Shedding her sweaty clothes, she decides to take a bath. Thank God this place has a tub rather than a shower. Tiny, old and rusty as it might be, it does the job._

_Though no wine and certainly no candles, no scented oils and no bubbles, the water only so-so warm, she likes to submerge into the water and pretend. Pretend she is home, is somewhere else, anywhere really but here._

_She takes the book with her, of course she does. It's the only thing she's read more than three times already, she can nearly recite whole passages out of it not, yet she cannot help rereading it. It makes her feel somewhat closer to him. _

_Carefully laying the book on the chair she strategically positions at the head of the bath, she lays her body into the tub, waiting as the water fills to the brim._

_She opens the book where she last stopped at, somewhere in the first third. She likes this part. It's light and funny, and God so much them. Heat and Rook bicker and banter, yet at the same time make lovey-dovey eyeballs at each other, ready to jump each other any minute. Kate sighs._

_She misses him._

_She lowers the book, closes her eyes. Runs her fingers under the water, rests them on her knees. She slowly runs her digits up her thighs__,__imagines another time, another place, another set of hands. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, smiles a little. Oh, yes. So what if she likes to pretend a little? It's the only way of release that really helps her these days, even if only for a while. She tries not to invest into the emotional part too much though. _

_Later, she'll pick up her book opening it on the page where she last left off__ to__once again loosing herself in his words. He must have written these parts before she supposedly died. They are merry, cheery, and full of hope for her favorite couple. For *them*. A sigh escapes her lips. She knows exactly at which point the book breaks, where's the point where he picked up his writing once after she died. It's relatively a tiny portion of the book, just the last fifteen or twenty pages really, yet they still hurt to read._

_Kate can read him through his words nearly as well as he can read her through her gestures, through the things she is *not* saying. And reading between the lines now, her heart aches for him. Sure, it hurts what he did to the characters, how he ended the series. Surprisingly, it hurts like__hell seeing Rook die, because she knows that still he'd rather die himself if he had the choice than see her get shot again. That's why he chose to jump in front of the bullet over a year ago, that's what really tipped her hand when she was deciding whether to take this curse of a deal or not. Because he would always be willing to put her well being in front of his own. And that would eventually get him killed. Not just as her plucky sidekick but as her lover too. And she would not survive that. _

_She doesn't deserve him, God, she really doesn't. Sometimes, she just lays in bed, thinking what it was that drew him to her, what it was that made him fall in love with her. She can't see it. She is just a damaged person with a burdening past, way too selfish and guarded to let anyone love her the way they deserve. And yet, despite knowing all of this, he was always still there; for four damn years. Waiting until she came to her senses, until she saw what was literally dangling in front of her eyes. It was nearly too late. Damn, it *was* too late. A single night doesn't build a relationship. They've got nothing. She's got nothing. Just a memory of one single night together._

_Sometimes, she wishes he'd move on and forget about her, carry on with his life and find something else to bring him joy, find someone else maybe. The next moment, she sees him with another woman in her mind, laughing, joking, smiling, kissing. And her jealousy flares to life. She is so selfish she isn't able to let him go even hypothetically, isn't willing to see him happy with anyone else. Despite that there's no person in the world who would deserve it more. She so desperately wants that for him. Only, she wants that for him with her. She isn't ready to give up on that idea just yet. She wants them to finally happen. She wants to make him happy, the same way he's been making her happy for so long. She doesn't even know if she is capable of that, if she can be that person for him, the person he needs to fulfill him. Oh but how she wants to._

_God, when will she be allowed to walk out of here? She is so tired of waiting, so scared of the outcome. The longer she's here, the slimmer her chances to get him back. _

_She cannot understand how he did it for so long, how he was willing to live in a limbo, waiting in a single place for her to finally notice him, for the wonderful, infuriating, generous man he was. He did it for over a year, maybe years even, if his words are anything to come by. She is finding herself on the verge of despair and insanity not even eight months into the waiting. There is so much she has to tell him, so much she should never have waited to tell him in the first place. _

_She still hasn't figured out how he found out about her lie. They never had the chance to talk about it during their single night together. She regrets it now, the thing becoming sort of her obsession as she tries to figure out when and how he came to the certainty that she remembered her shooting; that she knew all along that he loved her. She's been obsessing about it for weeks now, wondering. The only people who ever knew she remembered her shooting were Burke and her. And there is no way Burke would betray the confidentiality, there's not even any reason for him to want to do so. She sees no other way how Castle could have known – and he *did* know, for certain. The *how* tortures her to no end. _

_Oh what she would only give for a single session with Burke now, to see a friendly face, listen to some unbiased, objective advice delivered with a pinch of humor and amusement at her expense. She likes that about him. How he seems to always be so at ease, how some of her problems seem to amuse him to a great extend. Makes them feel somehow smaller, less important, easier to overcome._

_He always told her, although with not so many words, to go for it, go for Castle, once she'd feel ready. How she wishes she'd have went for that advice months and months ago._

_The water in the bath is already cold._

_Kate suddenly realizes she's been sitting in the tub, reminiscing for over an hour now, the water running cold long ago. She sighs, gets up from the tub, dries herself in the fluffy towel, the only thing she's requested from the FBI a couple of weeks into her hiding. Just a simple fluffy towel, nothing too extraordinary, just something to bring her more comfort. _

_She lets the water drain, switches the light off, closes the bathroom door behind her. She puts on her sleep attire – she realizes only now how chilly the room's gotten – crawls under the covers with the book. She bends over the side of the bed, picks up an old worn and very short pencil from the ground. Her back against the headboard, she starts to read. And write._

_The book is hard to read at some places now; she's made so many notes into it already. It started with her second read of it. She randomly had a pencil in her hand then and something in the book caught her attention, made her want to argue over it with him. She likes to blame it on her loneliness and a moment of utter madness, but she took the pencil and scribbled a tiny – "This isn't even funny, Castle," right next to the offending piece of wording. _

_Ever since then, she started to inscribe the book with notes. Sometimes, they referred to the book, to the characters, to the plot. Sometimes to their real life inspiration, to the parallels, to their collective memories she recognized, where he must have taken the inspiration from at this or that in the book. Sometimes, she wrote out just her random thoughts, something that popped into her head while reading the book despite it being completely unrelated to the plot. _

_Sometimes – mostly - she directed her writing at Castle. Sometimes she went for funny, sometimes for flirty, sometimes for regretful and apologizing, sometimes just for sad or depressing. She teased him through his book, declared all the things she was never able to do in person, asked for comfort through his writing. _

_She skipped the last fifteen or so pages. Right after she first read them and they made her heart shatter and rattle in her chest, utterly shocked, she never opened those pages again. They stayed blank and she stubbornly kept on ignoring them, refusing to acknowledge them, telling herself that they were all as fake as her death. _

_By now, the book was nearly so full with scribbles and notes she had to take time to find available nooks and spaces to squeeze even more of her notes in. Sometimes, she reread what she wrote, agreeing or not, scrunching her nose in distaste or smiling when she hit a particularly funny line. She liked the book. And it was as closest to Castle as she could get at the moment. Apart from her father's fortnightly updates on him and his family, she had nothing. _

_Last time she talked with her dad, he revealed how Castle had invited him for Christmas dinner. Even presented her father with a Christmas gift, a set of nice fishing hooks her father says he's had his eyes on since like forever. She didn't know what to think of the gesture. She felt confusion, gratitude, affection, guilt, sadness and regret all at once; wrapped up in a surge of tenderness towards the man who always seemed to think about everybody else's needs but his own._

_She never felt more impotent as that day, wishing to simply be able to pick up the phone, call him and tell him absolutely everything that's been on her mind and in her heart since she left his loft that morning with a promise of a safe and early return. A promise she's broken._

_Kate closes the book, puts the pencil down. Opens the book again on the well worn dedication page instead. She asked her father, of course she did, how he managed to lure a dedication out of Castle without revealing her secret. He told her the story - the *whole* story - and she felt the urge to blush only twice. Which she calls an accomplishment._

_She knew her father wanted to talk about it, wanted to know more, what it was exactly, this thing between her and Castle, but she had barely answers for herself, let alone for him. The only thing she knew for certain by the time she supposedly died was that their cards have been finally put on the table. He told her he loved her and she loved him but never told him. _

_She wishes was able to tell him then yet still hopes he felt it that night somehow, if not from her words than at least from her actions. She has no idea what they are now to each other though. She knows she loves him still, his absence and the solitude in her life making her feelings for him more pronounces and intense than ever before. Where there wasn't certainty before there's definitely certainty now. She loves Richard Castle with everything she has, with all his flaws and childishness and pettiness and stubbornness. How he feels about her, or more suitably, how he'll feel once she comes back, rising from the dead, she has no idea. And it terrifies her on a whole new level. In the past couple of years, Castle has been not always desired yet still such a strong presence in her life. She's come to count on him, depend on him, at all times. Now it's hard to imagine that all of this could come to an end, that it might be *him* to walk away this time. _

_She sometimes has these dreams that terrify her even in the morning still. In these dreams, she's finally free. She comes to his door, silently knocks. She waits, holding her breath, imagining his reaction. The door finally opens and he is there. She opens her mouth to speak, smile, but something isn't quite alright. She is looking at him but he isn't looking at her, but rather through her. She calls his name but he doesn't react, merely sticks his head out the door looking left and right, calls back over his shoulder into the loft: "There's no one here, probably just a prank," and with that readies himself to shut the door once again. She screams his name then, tries to grasp him, but she can't move, is pinned to her spot. He cannot even hear her. Because she's just a ghost. _

_She wakes in the middle of the night crying out his name, only to come to in the hollow, unfriendly walls of her room. Those nights, she is sure there is nothing that can make them right again._

_And she just wants to go home._

_TBC _

Thoughts? Ideas? Reviews? Share them, you'll feel lighter, promise! ;)


	9. Chapter 8 Beckett

_A/N: Okay people, slowly getting where many of you wanted to be from the start. Slowly returning to the present. At this point, the story ceases to be written in italics, since we're returning to the original time frame._

_Thank you for all your wonderful responses, signed or anonymous. I read all of the carefully and all are cherished! And thank you, Ann, you poor girl know for what._

**BECKETT**

She didn't expect to see him so soon. They might have told her that it could and most probably would all go down in a matter of days, so she better be prepared, but she certainly didn't expect Combs – her constant FBI guard and a real pain in the ass – to burst through her door at seven in the morning, unannounced and completely oblivious of her privacy, as per usual, telling her that today was the day she was finally going home. She didn't even know what that meant. Only thing she knew was that she's been hoping, waiting, _craving_ for the day to come for weeks, months even.

It was maybe the reason why she was surprised at the sheer force of the panic that seemed to grip her upon being told that her life in limbo was as of today officially over.

The case has been on the news for over a week now and since her presence wasn't required atcourt – they'd got all they needed from her, on record, approved and sealed by a judge – she was free to go.

Her very first instinct was to run out the door and never look back. The only problem was, there was nowhere to run; she had no home, no job, no life, no friends left. That's what being officially dead did to you.

She'd already packed her two suitcases she first came here with eight months ago, in fact, she'd had them packed for days now, so she just needed to add some last items before she zipped the two familiar bags closed, now slightly more bulgy than when she first came here, albeit not very much. She's got a couple more books, a few half-empty notebooks, favorite pencils and pens, some toiletries and news articles she carefully cut out from the few issues she was allowed to read regularly, nothing special really. And then there was of course her precious copy of _Frozen Heat_. The photo of Castle that's been perched on the nightstand – one she didn't even know she possessed until she found it one night sifting through her small collection of random photos, mostly of her friends from the 12th – was now tucked between two pages of his books; she's been careful not to lose it.

The paper felt already worn and thin under her fingers at the edges from the repeated strokes over the image on those nights that nightmares wouldn't let her get her rest. It was pathetic really, she knew, and it only underlined how depressed, lonely and displaced she'd felt in the course of the past few months. Still, she needed this, needed the picture as she needed her next breath, something to remind her every day of why she was doing this, reminding herself that out there was a person worth doing this all for. A person who might understand and hopefully take her back, who was all worth it and who'd luckily be the force behind her will to restart her life and begin anew from zero scratch.

Two hours later, she's being ushered into a black van – very similar to the one that brought her here in the first place. At 3 pm they are finally entering New York City. They drop her off at some non-descript subway station she's never seen before – it's Queens, they only tell her – and squeeze a small transparent plastic bag full of her previously confiscated possessions into her hands. Her phone's there, and her wallet along with her IDs and driver's license, credit cards and some cash she had when they originally snatched her. They're all intact and usable again, her phone too, they tell her. She nearly laughs at the irony when she spots her bike and apartment keys amongst the things in the bag, but then she reminds herself there isn't really much to laugh about. She has no home, no life to return to. But the apartment keys are the cruelest joke, really. What about her bike? She doesn't even remember where was the last place she parked it; well, it could be anywhere really, she will figure that one out later. As far as she can remember – and this she can remember pretty clearly – the last time she went home she took a cab from Castle's place. Her stomach flips at the memory, the unfairness of it all hitting her full force. She's been robbed eight months of her life she's never going to get back, eight months that could possibly have been the best of her life. If she only could have returned for that lunch that day…well, anyway, too late for that particular train of thought, cause that ship's already sailed.

She shivers from the cold. It's mid January and it's fucking freezing. She certainly didn't pack any of her coats back in June, she didn't expect the case to take so long anyway. Now she wishes she had, wrapped in one of her most warm leather jackets and a thin scarf. Oh all her wonderful coats, how she will miss them. Restocking her closet will be a bitch. She hopes Lanie will be willing to help.

Some people that pass her by are throwing her strange looks and Kate winces, knowing she must stick out of the crowd like a sore thumb. She looks ridiculous really, mid January in jeans and sneakers, a leather jacket and a thin scarf, two huge duffle bags at her feet and a bag of pricy possession that look like they've just been stolen in her hands. So much for flying under the radar. Well they don't need her now, so what do they care about her pretences anymore.

She winces at her thoughts, realizing how cynical she's lately become.

She finds a roll of cash in the bag too, cash she's sure wasn't there before, along with a handwritten non-descript telephone number under which the words – IN CASE OF EMERGENCY – stand written in strong and uninviting letters. She hopes she will never need to use it. And anyways, isn't _this_ kind of an emergency? She took their deal, worked for eight months with them doing their bidding, on their own conditions without much complaint and she is unceremoniously dumped to the curb with a roll of cash and no place to go. If this isn't an emergency, she doesn't know what is.

She doesn't even know where to start picking up the pieces of her previous life again. They might have promised they'd looked into her previous job position, let the according authorities know why she dropped off the radar, how she was doing her country a service. Yet A, she doesn't really trust them on this and B, there is no job to return to. After all, the day before she was snatched, she'd resigned, on her own free will. She highly doubts the FBI is going to call up Gates and persuade her to offer Beckett her old position back. She doesn't even know if she wants it. For now, all she knows is that she should move from where she is shivering on the sidewalk and go…_somewhere_.

She quickly shuffles the cash inside her jeans pocket, the rest of the items like her wallet, phone and keys she zips into her jacket.

She takes the train first, her two bags perched under the bench at her feet and her cold hands stuffed deep inside her pockets. Her breath comes out inthick white puffs and mix with the chilled air as she observes the industrial buildings disappearing quickly behind the glass when the train ventures above the ground from now and then. She changes lines and stations a couple of times until she finally starts to recognize the neighborhood somewhat, though she rarely came to visit other than by car or her bike.

There are remains of snow on the lawns of the street's houses, but the road is clear and dry. She knocks on his door, uncertain. He wasn't expecting her, is he even home? She prepares to knock again when the door finally opens, a sleepy messy head peering up at her from behind the doorstep.

"Hi, dad."

"Katie!" Her father releases a relieved sigh, happiness and surprise mixing on his face. He looks surprisingly good. Before she knows what's happening she's being pressed against him, enveloped by his strong arms in a fierce and bone-crushing hug. Still wrapped in his warm, protective embrace, her father ushers her inside the house, closing the door on the chilly air behind her with his foot, still not letting her go.

It's Kate's first hug in eight months. God, in eight months, this is the very first intimate human touch she's experienced. It brings sudden tears to her eyes. She holds on to her father, as tightly as she dares, her face buried in the crook of his neck as he cradles her against him, ushering words of solace in her ear. "It's alright Katie, it will all be okay."

She decides to camp out in his spare bedroom for the time being. Not that he seems to have expected any differently. She slowly unpacks the few personal items that now represent her whole life. She's starting from scratch.

She doesn't even know how much these small insignificant things of daily use came to mean to her until she catches herself lovingly thumbing the soft fibers of her hairbrush. That must snap her out of her reverie and she forces herself to stop this craziness. It's just a freaking hairbrush, completely replaceable! She'll probably throw it out and buy a new one first chance she'll get.

With a sinking feeling to her stomach, she realizes that the real work is only starting. And it won't be about such mundane things like buying a new brush, no. There are far more important things, talks, arguments, awaiting her attention, the sooner the better. She would lie is she said she wasn't terrified. After all, it doesn't happen every day you have the opportunity to tell your loved ones you just came from the dead. Or that you were never dead that in the first place…oh, whatever. She'll need to think about a strategy.

It's after 6 pm when she finally joins her dad in the kitchen where he's preparing dinner. He looks so casual, so at ease. Her throat closes over. It's like she's never even been away, like he didn't spend the last eight months pretending his only child was dead. She wonders in awe whenhe became the strong one.

They eat in silence, occasionally dropping a word or two, but they were never huge talkers. Their silence however, is comfortable. Mostly when they do talk, it's about the semantics of her release and what her next course of action should involve.

But she is preoccupied throughout the whole dinner and her father can tell.

"Go see him, Katie," he suggests gently out of the blue when she tries and fails for the fourth time in a row to bring the spoon full of soup to her mouth. She shoots him a deer-in-the-headlights glance, doesn't want him to feel like she doesn't want to be here. Because she really does, oh how she does. She just….wants to be somewhere else too, and it's tearing her apart.

"Go Katie, it's alright," her father says soothingly, a far too knowing look on his face. "It's not like you're going anywhere, right?" he adds for reassurance, his or hers she doesn't know. She quickly shakes her head. Not a chance.

"Good," her father smiles, "then go see him. After all, _he_ was the one who's spent the past eight months thinking you were dead."

Her heart drops just at the very thought as so many times before. She doesn't need to imagine what it must have been like for him for all these months, she's been there. She's made the experience first hand.

"Have you talked to him lately? Since the case went public, I mean," she asks.

"No."

For some reason, she considers this a bad sign. From what she heard from her father, Castle kept a tight and rather precise schedule with her dad. Lunch every fortnight, a phone call somewhere in between.

Her dad seems to be contemplating her now. "Just go easy on him Kate, he's been through a lot. I know you have too sweetie," he adds hastily, but she doesn't seem offended by his suggestion. "I just…what I meant to say is, try not to have too high expectations. It's a lot to take in at once and he might not be as forthcoming during your first meeting as you'd like," he concludes, a wary, measured look on his face.

She knows he is just looking out for her, trying to warn her not to get her hopes up for a happy reunion; hell, she isn't expecting one either, she knows they will both hurt like hell. Still, her father's words sting more than she'd like to admit and her vision blurs again.

_Dammit!_ When did she become so mentally unstable?

She rises from her seat, moves around the table, giving her father a fierce hug. "Thank you daddy," she whispers in his ear, kisses his cheek as she withdraws. "For being so…understanding. Of everything. And for looking out for him. You'll never know how grateful I am for all you've done for me," she gives his cheek another peck, lets him hug her a bit longer before she disentangles.

"You'll be alright?" she asks him as she stands to her full high, looking down at him, at her father, her only remaining family. Both their eyes are slightly moist and her question is loaded with subtext.

"I will," he says in a gentle voice, underlines his words with a firm nod. She smiles.

"Will _you_?" He asks and her smile disappears.

"I don't know," she whispers truthfully. They both know it doesn't depend only on her anymore. For her own happiness, she has to ensure someone else's first. It would be futile to try to deny the fact in front of her father, he's been there, every week on the phone, heard the lilt of despair in her voice every single time she asked about him, caught every breathless gasp when he mentioned his name.

Jim gives his daughter an understanding nod, enveloping her slightly cool fingers in his big warm hand.

"Well then, Godspeed Katie," he says. The familiar phrase he so often used with her when she was younger and was just about to venture into the world brings a smile on her face. Maybe not all is lost; maybe she is not that alone after all.

TBC

_Okay, so we had__ some serious forward movement in this chapter and yes, the next will be what many of you have been so impatiently anticipating, the Castle/Beckett reunion, where we return exactly to where we left off in the prologue. Until then, let me know what you thought of this chapter, alright? ;) _


	10. Chapter 9 Castle and Beckett

A/N: This, many of you have been anticipating with eagerness. I hope it won't disappoint. Enjoy and don't forget, this is still not the end of this extremely angsty story! ;)

**CASTLE AND BECKETT**

_He opens his door and there she is and his world starts wildly spinning, then abruptly stops and crashes._

"_Hey Castle," she says as if she's only seen him yesterday. Two cups of coffee in her slightly shaking hands, she makes an uncertain, timid impression. She looks just the same, looks like the morning he so casually kissed her goodbye to never see her again. Yet here she is, looking all natural and beautiful, and as alive as ever. She could simply be dropping by for dinner, or one of their late evening wrap-up sessions after a case, she could really be just visiting for any good reason, weren't she only supposed to be dead. _

_Her posture crumbles a little at the sight of him and her bottom lip starts trembling as he simply keeps on staring at her. She continues to speak though, despite being painfully aware of his state of shock. "I meant to call you first, but then I thought to hear my voice over the phone might come as an even greater shock than seeing me in person. So, here I am…" she stands there, unmoving, only shuffling from one leg to the other, completely insecure. And suddenly, Castle realizes, she doesn't look like Beckett at all, not the Kate he knew. Surely this can't be her, this unsure, scared little thing. He tries to wrap his head about it, tries to come up with a plausible, if wild__,__ theory that would explain this strange event where Kate Beckett suddenly stands at his doorstep eight months after he stood with her father over her grave, but fails miserably. There is no other way to explain this, only that with the case being all over the news, bringing back all the memories with it, he's apparently reached his breaking point. So what if he is going a little insane? Isn't everybody in this city to some capacity a little nutty?_

_When he doesn't move, talk or acknowledge her in any way, her state of distress grows even further. Her eyes glass over, voice trembling to a point where it nearly breaks. "I know what it must look like to you…I mean, God…I've been gone for eight months …but it's really me, Castle. I am here, and I'm not dead."_

He stands in the doorway, thunderstruck, his mouth slightly agape; then stumbles back into his apartment, his feet tripping over each other.

It's Kate; it's really her.

He still hasn't ruled out hallucinations, but as far as he is concerned, he will take what he can get. She slowly crosses the threshold, her feet carrying her further into the apartment uneasily, closes the door behind her silently before she turns to him again.

She steps closer and closer to him, this beautiful mirage, but he keeps backtracking until they are suddenly standing in the middle of his living room. She is only a couple feet away now and he yearns to touch her, but he knows the bubble will burst once he attempts to.

She is the one to make the first resolute move towards him, extending one of her arms holding the coffee.

"Here," she offers with a gentle smile and his fingers slowly, ever so slowly, come to hold the paper cup in a painfully familiar gesture. It's warm, so surprisingly warm, as are her fingers when he brushes them with his own once taking the cup from her.

And just like that, the spell is broken.

She doesn't disappear, oh no. She is there, solid and warm and very much alive, and it suddenly comes all crushing down on Castle.

She is alive, Kate is alive. He doesn't know how, or why, only knows that those past few months, that horrible everlasting nightmare, it's all been just a lie.

His body crashes down onto the dark leather couch, his posture crumbling. The coffee gets discarded somewhere onto the coffee table in front of him; he isn't sure, doesn't care. He tries to comprehend, tries to keep up. He is good at that, right? His mind, his brain… it's his job, isn't it? Make up elaborate schemes, unexpected twists, shocking the audience into silence.

Yet this is too much even for him, Richard Castle, Master of the Macabre.

He buries his head in his hands, shoulders hunching, forces himself to take a couple of deep breaths, for he's suddenly sick. He certainly feels the bile rise in his throat.

This simply can't be true. How? Why? God, why?

She appears to wait him out, comes to stand at his side patiently. Through the cracks in his fingers he can see her shoes. Sneakers, he notices, soaked with melted snow. Her whole attire seems far too light for the weather outside, his observant mind supplies.

He can still smell the alluring aroma of coffee, which is _their_ thing, he remembers.

Ever since she died, _disappeared_ – he corrects himself, he had a hard time getting used to the flavor without the bitter aftertaste. Ever since she disappeared, he has taken his coffee black, no sugar and no milk. He tried to switch to tea anyway, just to get rid of the painful stab he got anytime he took a gulp of the dark, delicious liquid…God, why is he even thinking these things? Why indeed, when she is here, _Kate_ is here…right here, breathing and alive and as vibrant as ever.

"It's really you," he croaks into his hands with crushing finality, his voice broken, disbelief still lacing every syllable.

Her hands come to caress his head, fingers stroking his dark hair. "It's really me Castle," she whispers, continuing to run her fingers through his hair. Yet the gesture feels anything but soothing. It sends his already frayed nerves on edge. She's alive, has been alive for all this time and he never knew. Whatever her reasons, she leaded him on that she was dead.

"I am alive and I know it's a lot to take in," she continues in a soothing tone as if talking to a small, scared child. She continues her caresses but he suddenly flinches away, whether from her touch or words, he doesn't know. The only thing he knows is that a huge tight knot of anger, hatred and spite just unfurled – _exploded_ – inside of him and he has no power to stop it. He slaps her hand away violently, jumps to his feet.

"A lot to take in?"He shouts, ignoring her own flinch, an involuntary physical reaction to his outburst no doubt. "A lot to take in," he repeats indignantly. "Are you kidding me, Kate?"

The force of his voice makes her take a step back, but he doesn't care. He is angry, and it's the first real emotion he's felt in months and _it feels good_! He's not letting that go.

"Listen to me, Castle," she starts gently, holding her hands up like she was under gunpoint, "I unders-"

"Listen to you? Why, Kate? You don't know _anything_! You come here, eight months after you supposedly died, eight months after I buried you, and you get the nerve to tell me you _understand_?" His voice is still loud, but it's starting to crack. He is still angry, but despair and helpless confusion are getting the better of him. His eyes are moist, because he is in pain, excruciating pain, all over again, because of _her_. And she is just standing there, her own eyes glistering, biting her lip in an oh so painfully familiar gesture, her hands twitching and twisting in front of her, as if she wanted to reach out to him all at once, like she's waiting for him, like there is anything he can do to make it disappear, all this pain and confusion and misunderstanding, like it's _his_ decision to make.

It all comes crashing around him now, the memories, the funeral, the burned down apartment…the case that's been on the news for weeks. And suddenly, amongst all the confusion, chaos and mayhem of his mind, it all suddenly starts to make sickening sense.

"Your mom's case," he rasps out, "the secret witness…it's you. This whole time, it's been you!" he exclaims, accusingly. Her face twitches, but she gives a slight nod.

"I was snatched from my apartment the morning I left here," she starts slowly, as if what she has to say is as painful for her to say as it is for him to hear. Subconsciously, she makes another small step in his direction, bringing them closer again; her determined gaze, that familiar green and hazel of her eyes all shiny and vibrant only inches away from him. He doesn't close the gap, is merely regarding her now, mouth slightly agape, posture defeated. He retreats then, sinking back to the couch as if weighted down by the crushing force of it all. She can't blame him. She stays standing, sensing his need for her to keep her distance for now. It hurts but she is willing to do anything he will need of her; she owes him that much.

"It was the FBI," she continues, each syllable dragged out as if physically hurting her. "They told me Smith was dead." A flicker of recognition steals across Castle's face, but it's gone in a flash. "He apparently made a dead man's switch on the file, so it would be forwarded to the FBI in case something ever happened to him." She can see he's still not following, still looks at her with that painful mixture of shock and denial. It stings but she continues nonetheless.

"They told me Maddox was at my apartment, waiting." She doesn't elaborate why; she can see he gets the picture when his eyes go wide. "I was given a choice, either leave their car and take my chances with the line of assassins the Drag…" she catches herself. She has a name now, might as well use it, "…_Collins_ would surely send my way, or disappear and cooperate with them in taking him down." She looks into his eyes then, hers beseeching him to understand. Her voice takes up on a desperate, pleading urgency he isn't used to. "I took the deal Castle, and I knew it was a horrible choice to make, not for me, but for the people I would be leaving behind," she says, a tear sliding down her cheek and she angrily wipes at it, willing her voice not to break. "But what choice did I really have? I _had to_ Castle, I had to take the deal." She urges on, pleads her case, voice rising in despair as she tries to get her point across.

"You could have chosen me," he replies suddenly, unexpectedly. His voice is full of quiet fury. Despite the quietness of his tone, the words boom in the silent room. "You should have chosen _me_, Kate. I would have protected you," he says, spite filling the air around them. "But you chose your mother's case over us, _again_." When he sees her shake her head violently, ready the interrupt him, he won't let her.

The vicious anger blooms inside of him, powerful and merciless and he is powerless against it. He rises to his feet, closing the short distance between them in two quick strides until he's standing right in front of her, his finger accusingly pointed at her.

"My God, Kate, you _did_ have a choice! And you chose the hell for us, for me, your father, Ryan, Esposito, Lanie, my family…and anyone who ever cared about you! How could you do that? How could you, especially after what you yourself had to go through after your mother's death, how could you have done that to us?" His voice is breaking, an angry hissing whisper, eyes moist again. But this time, he doesn't know whether it's from sadness or spite. "I mourned you, Kate! For eight long months, I've been living with this huge hole of loneliness and pain and guilt in my heart and now you tell me it's all been for nothing, that it's all been a lie?" He takes a step back. "Just another lie," he breathes a desolate, devastating gasp, and her face crumbles, her posture slacking, hands falling to her sides helplessly. "I'm so sorry Castle," she whispers nearly inaudibly.

He continues as if he hasn't heard her. "You've been feeding me lies for so long now, how can I even begin to dissect the truth in them?" He asks her, demanding an answer she doesn't have. She raises her hands towards him, makes a step in his direction, but he takes a step back. He cannot let her touch him, he absolutely can't.

"Eight months I've been learning, like a man drowning at the wide open sea, of how to live without you, how to let you go, how to move on, and now you tell me it's been all for nothing," he utters, and he looks so helpless, so lost, and in so much pain, it tears at her heart. "Do you have any idea what you are asking of me? Of all of us? To let you in again just like that," he flicks his fingers in frustration, "As if it didn't happen? As if we didn't go through a trauma that despite being faked had us all hurting? My God, Kate," he repeats for the umpteenth time that night, breathes out her name, looking at her like her sees her in real light for the very first time in his life. It's not a nice look and she cannot help but avert her eyes in shame. "What the hell were you thinking?"

A tear slips down her face, but he doesn't want her tears, he wants answers. "How could you do this? How could you…if not to anybody else, than do that to your father, of all people!"

Guilt flickers through her face, but there's something off in her features. Still, that doesn't stop him as a nauseating realization strikes him. He starts babbling, speaking his thoughts out loud, "Jim, my God, does he know? Does he know already? We need to tell him, right now," he regards her with huge, panicked eyes.

When she doesn't move, only looks at him with that guilty, despairing look, silent tears slipping down her cheeks and sliding past her pursed lips, it all comes to him with sickening sense. He rewinds all those months and weeks ago, remembers how odd he found Jim's behavior, how surprisingly _not_ devastated the older man was. The taste of betrayal burns on his tongue, in his chest, like liquid acid.

"Oh my God, he knew," he bursts out disgustedly, his eyes mercilessly accusing, "Your dad was in on it from the start!"

She is still standing there, mutely crying, waiting him out, slimmer and paler than he's ever seen her, with dark circles running underneath her eyes, but still fierce and painfully beautiful. She gives a small nod and he has to look away, his need to punch something, _hard_, never greater.

"I am so sorry Castle," she starts anew, urgent and intense, "he was the only one allowed to know. I asked…no, I _begged_ them, to let you know too, but they wouldn't allow it." She's pleading openly with him now, steps into his space again to catch his eyes, willing him to listen and try to understand her reasoning. This was not done to him purposely.

She is taken aback by the coldness she's met with. His jaw is tightly set, disgust at their scam rolling off him in powerful waves. She's never seen him so angry, so disappointed. Hurt and betrayed, in her, by her. And what's worse, she knows he has every right to feel that way but she also needs him to understand that she didn't willingly choose this impossible situation, that stupid god-forsaken case, over him, over _them_, that she had as little choice in the matter as he did.

"I am so sorry Castle, believe me, it's my biggest regret. But trust me when I tell you I didn't want it. I was simply not-given-any-choice," she punctuates each word.

He is still and unmoving, distant and cold, despite their proximity. It scares her a little, this emotional fierceness of his, more than any crook with a gun ever could.

"Was it a lie too?" he asks at last, voice still distant as he ponders over something in his mind, and she is momentarily confused. "Our night together, I mean," he supplies. "Was it a fluke? A release of steam for you? Were you merely drawing comfort, seeking a safe refuge after what happened to you that day?" He concludes with a cool tone of voice and feels a little vindictive upon seeing her face crumble into pieces in front of him. His features only harden at the sight and if she didn't know better, she'd say he looked vicious. "Did it even mean anything to you Kate, anything at all?"

Now he aims to hurt, probably wants to provoke her into a fight, she understands as much. But God is he successful, rousing a surge of fury inside of her at his accusations. Yet there is also this nearly indistinguishable trace of self-doubt hidden in his voice that tears her heart into two, making her unable to hold his words against him. She could never have guessed how deeply he'd be wounded by herleaving.

Despite his obvious discomfort, she lays her hands on him again, grips his shoulders to steady herself against him. Her eyes close as the memories from their night together assault her mind; tries to concentrate on the present instead. With the weight of her feelings for him rushing through her, she finally whispers, "It meant _everything_ to me, Castle." Her warm breath hits his face in a sweet, delicate puff, but she's not finished. He deserves nothing less than to hear it all. "It was the only thing that kept me sane during those awfully long and lonely days and nights, being locked up and working that god-forsaken case. Not a night wentby Castle, not a _single_ night," she puts an emphasis on the word, squeezing his shoulders in reassurance, "that I wouldn't think about you; where you were, how you were doing, what you were doing and with whom. I couldn't help it as I kept up at night, always wondering," her face is only inches away from his now and for some reason, he cannot find it in him to move, not if his life depended on it. "I kept wondering," she repeats in a whisper, her lips dancing dangerously close to his, "what _we_ would have been doing if not for this, I wondered what _we_ could be doing, _together_, if things went as planned that morning, if I'd returned for lunch that day as I promised."

Her arms have somehow sneaked their way from his shoulders to the sides of his face, cradling his scull, her fingers stroking through his hair and behind his ears in a maddening, all too familiar manner, not enough an yet too much. "I know what I did to you Castle," she breathes, the slight tremble in her voice nearly inaudible, "and I will never be able to take it back, to completely heal the pain my actions brought upon you, but I want to try. Please Castle, _please_ let me at least try!" She brings her mouth to his then, cannot stop herself, a simple kiss she's been dreaming about for so long. Her lips barely manage to touch his when she's abruptly met with nothing but air, his face and whole body suddenly withdrawing. She opens her eyes in disappointment, her heart crushed beyond reason.

He slowly takes her hands from his face, lets them fall to her sides limply. His eyes are wet, moist with tears, part crazed, part confused, part completely devastated. "I don't know if I can do that, Kate," his voice is so quiet, so unsteady, yet still so soft. He sounds utterly lost, like a small boy, not the grown forty-something man he is.

"You don't know how to do what?" she utters quietly, urging him gently to share his fears with her. Yet already as she asks, she feels her chest clench with dread, with panic, with loss.

"I _loved_ you Kate," he says through his tears and all air rushes from her lungs at his words. She can't breathe all of a sudden. "I loved you, with everything I had, but you forced me to let that go, to move on." He is talking gently now, like she's now the child, like a parent trying to calm down a baby, explain why the sun has to disappear behind the horizon at the end of the day. She is still way too struck by his previous words for the warning bells to start ringing in her head at his tone.

"Loved me," she repeats in a haze, breathless. "Past tense?" it's a question she's scared to hear the answer to.

He stays silent for a moment. Then; "Well, what did you expect?" She can hear outrage and despair but also pleading in his voice, pleading for her to understand. And then there's also the slightest trace of pity. For her. For what she thought she still could have but isn't simply possible anymore.

Oh God, he's actually feeling sorry; for _her_. She needs to get out, she's gonna be sick. But Castle beats her to this, too.

"I think you should go," he utters quietly. And if she thought her heart couldn't break any further, she's painfully mistaken. He's throwing her out.

"I'm…I'm sorry," he says, "This is just too much. I just," he shrugs his shoulders in a helpless gesture, "it's simply too much. I'm sorry Kate, but it's too much. I…" he takes a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut in what appears to be a gesture of pain, "I need to think."

She nods her head, defeated. It's over then, she's nearly certain she missed her chance. He'd once loved her, but he'd already moved on. Because she made him.

Her worst fears of the past eight months just came true and it was a truth that would forever haunt her; Royce's letter never before making more sense.

"I'm sorry Castle," she offers feebly once more, "For how I hurt you, for how I couldn't be what you needed me to be for you; for all of that, I am sorry." She takes a step back and he doesn't stop her. Her chest feels like it's being crushed but she keeps on walking, backtracking, until her back hits his front door.

Her mind conjures up images from another time, when her back was pressed against this very same door, his hot breath speaking promises to the skin at her neck, his fingers gently pressing against the puckering flesh of her scar. And with that, she knows she cannot let him go, cannot let _them_ go. This might be easier for the both of them, but it's not _right_. Because they are too good together and they've never even had a real chance.

She braces her back against the door, wills it to hold her upright as she speaks. "I am staying with my father for the time being and I'll be available whenever you want to talk. And I'll be waiting Castle, I don't care how long it takes. Whenever you'll feel ready, I'll be waiting for you. The same way you've always been waiting for me. I understand it now."

He finally unglues his eyes from the carpet in his sitting room, directs his gaze at her at last. His eyes are still wet, filled with unshed tears, unfocused and full of pain.

She aches for him, but she knows he needs time. She's hurt him so much, so _badly_, she might never get him back. For now however, he needs time and space and she needs to give exactly that to him. But not before she lets the final truth slip from her mouth.

"For the past eight months," she utters quietly and he has to strain his ears to hear her, "I've been having this nagging regret of not telling you something. And I promised myself that I would tell you the first chance I got once I came back." She takes a deep breath, looks at him, seeking out that maddening blue of his eyes even through the vast space currently separating them. Some of that fog seems to have elevated from his eyes, but a lot of it still remains. She hopes he'll be able to hear her, loud and clear, even through the mist.

"So for what it's worth, Castle," she continues, subconsciously holding her breath, her hands tightly pressed against the cool steel of his door, "I loved you too."

There is silence for a moment, then; "Past tense?" he asks, offers her words back to her. Despite the grim situation, she cracks a tiny smile.

"Present," she says, her voice suddenly strong and steady, overflowing with conviction.

"Always present."

With that, she presses the handle on his door and silently slips out of the loft, letting her fluttering heart raid inside her chest as she quietly flees his building into the darkness of the night. She's done it; she's finally told him how she feels about him. She might have felt proud about it, if she only weren't over eight months too late.

TBC

_Don't kill me, this is not the end, okay? But hey, you seriously couldn't expect he would greet her with open arms, all lovey-dovey…Okay, so I guess you technically __**could**__ expect that, but where would the drama be in that, right? Also, I don't think it would be realistic for the characters, considering what they've been through. Don't worry though, I know exactly where I am headed with this story. Just have a little faith in me, okay? And there is also a silver lining to this – means the story isn't ending yet. :)_

_So buckle up and leave a review!_


	11. Chapter 10 Castle and his Family

_AN – Thank you for the overwhelming response to the last chapter. Really people, you are the best! Also, want to see a mirror story to this? Where the roles are reversed and the writing even better? Go check you **Muppet47 – Castling** story, it's fabulous!_

**CASTLE AND HIS FAMILY**

It's been three days. Three days since Castle opened his front door and found Kate Beckett standing at his doorstep. Three days since his world has been turned upside down and he's tried to find his way out of the jumble of thoughts in his head.

Kate is alive. God, she is alive and breathing. And she told him she loved him, openly, unashamedly, certain.

Yet it hurts, still hurts so much to even breathe her name or imagine her face. It's been tainted with pain and loss for so long, how is he supposed to overcome that? How can he go back to how the world was before? How can he turn it all back when he just barely learned to live with it upside down?

He wanted to call her, wanted to talk to her, but he doesn't know what to say, how to react. It would just hurt too much to even look at her;it'd still feel like a dream, or a nightmare, he isn't sure.

If not for the two paper cups of steaming, never touched coffee, left on his living room table, Castle would have believed it was all just a dream.

But the two cups of coffee were still there even once his mother came home hours later finding him hiding in the darkness of his bedroom, curled under the covers and refusing to face that huge, confusing world outside.

Kate was alive, Kate was back, and he sent her away. He didn't know how to feel about it, didn't know much of anything that night. His mother asked him what was wrong, called him up on his hiding, inquired about the abandoned coffee cups. He told her then, told her that he saw Kate Beckett that very afternoon, apparently very much alive. Told her that her death had all been just one giant lie. Either that or he's officially going crazy.

He could tell his mother was clearly upset by his confession, looked at him like she thought his other suggestion was the one more likely. Still she pretended to stay calm, patted his cheek. "There is only one way to find out, kiddo," she said, leaving him in his room in order to retrieve her phone and came back a minute later to sit at his side.

She dialed a number, held the phone to her ear, her fingers coming to comb through her sons thick dark hair affectionately as they waited. She never looked more concerned, yet still stayed collected, for his sake, Castle knew. He was so tired, so confused. Maybe he was really going crazy, maybe this was all just another cruel dream, a sick elaborate construct of his tired mind. Maybe his wish for her to be alive caused his mind to short circuit, conjured up an image of her coming to his doorstep, an elaborate scheme of how she could have survived.

Finally, somebody seemed to have picked up on the other end of the line, for his mother started speaking at last. "Yes hello Jim, this is Martha Rodgers," she said into the receiver and watched Rick's eyes go huge, his head starting to shake violently in panic and refusal, but she merely squeezed his forearm, never wavering as she continued; "I have a question for you if you don't mind. No, no it's fine. But first, let me tell you how awfully sorry I am to bother you with this, however, I am afraid I have no other choice." She listened to the other end of the line, silently bobbing her head a couple of times, "Yes, yes, dear. You see," she looked at Castle. "Richard here, he…" she paused for a moment, pondering about how to phrase her inquiry, "he is under the impression that your daughter is alive and that she came for a visit a couple of hours ago…" she dropped her voice in favor of what Jim had to say, listened to the other end on the line for quite a time. "Ah, alright, I see. Well, I am really glad for you then, yes. I understand."

Not a figment of his imagination then.

Castle couldn't help but be astounded by the dignity and calmness with which his mother appeared to take in the shocking news she was receiving. His head was still spinning. She wrapped up the call with a few pleasantries before she finally put the phone down, looking at her son.

"Oh Richard," she pursed her lips and he was shocked to see tears in his mother's eyes. "Oh darling," she didn't say more and that was good, because there really wasn't much to say. She offered her arms and Castle was shocked at how gladly he sunk into his mother's embrace, finding refuge in the cocoon of her arms at a time when everything around him seemed to be in shambles. She was stroking his hair, gently rocking them back and forth.

"What am I going to do?" Castle croaked after a while into his mother's neck, his voice feeble and broken.

Martha took a moment to think about her words, for once apparently at a loss for words. "I don't know, kiddo. What did the two of you talk about? Her father said she got back just this morning that you were the first person she went to visit." There was a lot implied in her sentence. He didn't answer. "Jim also said she returned to his place an hour ago, half frozen and soaked to the bone by melted snow, not in the mood to talk." More implications. Again, he didn't know how to answer that. "I take it your talk didn't go that well?" his mother asked sympathetically.

"I…She came to apologize. Explain." He croaked. "I…I sent her away." He said and felt his mother's arms squeeze around him.

"I'm so sorry Richard." She repeated helpless. "But the question now is, can you forgive her?" his mother continued, pressing ever so quietly.

"I don't know," he moaned.

"Do you want to?" she asked again.

"I-don't-know!" He keened. "I don't know if I can, nor if I even want to. It's all just so confusing, Mother," he said, hiding his face in the crook of her neck.

"Oh Richard, darling, I am again, so sorry."

She fellsilent after that, merely cradled him for God knows how long up until a point when he startedto feel slightly ashamed by the fact that he was a grown man being rocked in bed by his nearly seventy year old mother. He disentangled then, looked at her sheepishly and she seemed to understand. She patted his cheek one more time, gave him a sympathetic look, sighed. "Why don't you get a couple of hours of sleep?" she suggested gently and he nodded, crawling under the covers once again.

When he woke much, much later, it was already after three am. The loft was dark, his mother long gone, sleeping in her bed upstairs. He walked to the kitchen, opened up a cabinet to take out a glass to fill with water, up to the brim. He gulped the liquid down, filled the glass again. He was suddenly extremely thirsty.

He took a paper napkin from another cupboard, ran it over his sweaty face. He felt like he was running a fever but it was probably just the elevated heating in the loft and the fact that he spent the last couple of hours holed under a pile of covers and pillows, willing them to protect him from the outside world. Though maybe, Castle thought, it was really just the shock of the news he received today, playing on his already frayed nerves. Because she was alive. Kate was alive and he still couldn't wrap his head around it.

His heart thrummed painfully, his chest swelling to a point when it felt like he was suffocating. He opened the bin to throw away the damp napkin and that's when he saw them; the two cups of untouched coffee. His mother must have thrown them away when she was tidying up earlier. His stomach churned and he suddenly felt sick.

He barely made it to the sink heaving violently, the water he just drank mixed with the acid of his stomach coming right back up. He gripped the counter for support, the news just really starting to sink in. Kate was alive; God, she was never dead in the first place. She had lied, faked her death in order to solve her mother's murder for good. And now she was back, wanting him to take her back.

But he didn't know how to feel about that, God, he didn't even know how to feel about her being alive yet. It was probably a horrible thought to have, but it was all he could think and everything was so damn confusing. Only this morning she's been still dead to him, to the world. And only a couple of hours later, she's been knocking on his door, very much alive. It didn't make any sense.

He was tired, sick and devastated. He should probably be happy, glad, exhilarated to see her. But all he could think about is how he fought to stay above the water for the past eight months while it has all been for nothing. She had lied to him, to them all, she didn't care enough about him, _them_, to let them know. She had wanted him to think she was dead and now he didn't know how to undo those feelings anymore. It all felt so surreal, so bizarre. Maybe he needed to sleep on it, look onto it with fresh eyes in the morning, in daylight. Maybe then it would not appear like a nightmare, or a desperate wish. So Castle returned to his room and forced himself to sleep.

But the next morning felt still as frustrating and confusing as the day before. He had to reassure himself that yesterday had really happened, secretly opening the trashcan again while looking for the two paper cups; then for good measure asked his mother about it too because he didn't trust himself anymore. She confirmed it, of course she did, sadness in her eyes, sadness for her son. Silently, he took out the trash.

Alexis came to dinner the next day. His mother, not very considerately, told her the news, though Castle knew she would have found out eventually anyway. Still, it felt strangely prematurely to tell his daughter, when he himself had such a hard time accepting it yet. Alexis' reaction was surprisingly fierce. And angry. She viewed Kate's actions as an unforgivable betrayal, immediately picking her father's side, although Castle didn't feel like there was really a side to pick. There seemed to be no victors.

She was angry with Kate, so very angry, all on his behalf as she kept talking about it through dinner. Castle didn't contribute to her heated arguments and accusations much but couldn't begrudge his daughter her anger. After all, it's been Alexis who had to pick up the pieces after Kate left. Yet strangely, he couldn't say he completely agreed with Alexis' anger, some part of him oddly feeling like he should be defending Kate, defending her actions. Mostly though, he jus felt depleted. Empty. And thoroughly disappointed. He really thought Kate cared about him, cared enough to let him know, cared enough to be willing to spare him the nightmare of the past eight months. And he couldn't phantom how he was supposed to get over that.

So it's been three days already since she came to his door and he still hasn't called her. He desperately wants to hear her voice again, but he doesn't know how, or about what. Kate suddenly feels like a stranger, like an impostor. Because _his_ Kate had died. He knows because he buried her, stood over her grave, mourned her loss for months. Brought flowers to her grave, her _empty_ grave, every fucking month. _Flowers for your grave_. How disgustedly ironic.

It's the evening of the third day when somebody knocks on his door. Softly, but assuredly. Castle doesn't want to go to answer the door, since his curiosity didn't pay off the last time.

Instead, he stays holed up in his study, the glass of bourbon resting on the table already half empty. He hears his mother get the door, listens to the quiet chatter coming from outside. One voice is his mother's, the other voice is male. For an instant, it makes him deflate, whether with relaxation or disappointment, he doesn't know. Because it's not _her_. But then he hears the voices grow nearer and he gets curious once again. Who could be visiting?

His questions are answered when his mother firmly knocks on his study's door, then opens without waiting for an invitation. "Richard, you've got a visitor," she says, ushering somebody inside. "C'mon, don't be shy, he won't bite." She says and a timidly looking Jim Beckett, a wooly hat squeezed in a tight ball in his hands, slowly walks into the room.

TBC


	12. Chapter 11 Castle and Jim

_AN – Thank you to everybody who took the time to read as well as review. Again, all reviews are cherished, unfortunately, I cannot reply to those reviews which aren't signed. But I DO read and am very grateful for them all. _

**CASTLE AND JIM**

_He hears her mother open their front door, listens to the quiet chatter coming from outside. One voice is his mother's, the other voice is male. For an instant, it makes him deflate, relax. It's not her. But then he hears the voices grow and he gets curious once again. Who could be visiting?_

_His questions are answered when his mother firmly knocks on his study's door, then opens without waiting for an invitation. "Richard, you've got a visitor," she says, ushering somebody inside. "C'mon, don't be shy, he won't bite." She says and a timidly looking Jim Beckett, a wooly hat squeezed in a tight ball in his hands, slowly walks into the room._

And just like that, Castle's curiosity deflates, his face growing cold and distant, anger suddenly surging through him at the sight of Kate's father and partner in crime. He throws his body heavily against the back of the chair, gives a sigh. "If this isn't the devil's advocate," he proclaims dramatically, cannot hold the tint of hostility out of his voice. The man has betrayed him, in the worst possible of ways.

"Now Richard, behave!" his mother admonishes him, a scandalized look stealing over her face but Jim just raises his hand in an appeasing gesture.

"That's alright Martha, I kind of deserved that," he says before he turns back to Castle, his features growing grave. "I hoped we could talk, Rick."

"Did _she_ send you?" Castle spits spitefully, nearly doesn't recognize himself. He doesn't know where the malice is coming from but he knows it's there, iron hot and pulsating.

Jim looks momentarily confused, taken aback by Rick's lash-out.

"Who, Katie?" he asks as realization dawns upon him. "She'd kill me if she knew I was here," Jim continues, shaking his head sadly. "No, I didn't come to plead my daughter's case. I am here for mine."

Castle hates himself a little for feeling intrigued at Jim's words. He gestures towards the chair, silently asking Jim to sit down. The door closes the same moment Jim obliges, his mother finally leaving them alone after making sure her son would behave in a civilized manner.

"I know you must be angry with me, Rick," Jim starts quietly.

"Damn right I'm angry!" Castle shouts through. "You knew, all this time you knew and you didn't tell me." Oh God, not those stupid tears again. He wills them away."You knew what it felt like and you still let me go through it! I considered you a friend Jim, somebody to understand, somebody to share the joint burden. And all this time, you've been lying to me the same way _she_ was."

Jims looks excessively uncomfortable, twists his hands in a very Beckett-like manner. And he should, oh how he should feel ashamed for what he's done. "I loved her, Jim, and you let me believe she was dead, for eight excruciatingly long months," Castle finishes on a hiss, his eyes already rimmed red but no tears fall down, thank God.

"I had to," Jim says desolately, "I am so sorry, Rick, but I had to protect my daughter."

"You didn't trust me enough," Castle accuses.

"That's not the reason and you know it," Jim shoots back, his voice rising unexpectedly and Castle is momentarily taken aback by the tone of power and authority he's never heard from the man before.

"I couldn't tell you because my daughter's life depended on it. Not because I didn't trust you with the information, but because I am loyal to my daughter and I'd always put her needs and wishes in front of anybody else's, even mine," he says with his voice unwavering, fierce. "Surely, you must understand that. If your daughter's life depended on it…" he catches himself but doesn't need to finish the sentence. They both know the answer. No way in hell he would ever endanger Alexis' life or safety. _Never_. His eyes drop to his desk.

"So _she_ didn't want to tell me, that's what you are saying? That you were just respecting her wishes?" utters Castle devastated, his voice surprisingly quiet.

"No," Jim objects vehemently, "that's not what meant at all!" He seems to catch himself at the harshness of his tone and forces himself to lie back in his chair. He takes a deep breath and continues more calmly. "There was no greater wish for Katie to be able to tell you Rick, but she simply _couldn't_. It was part of the agreement, her lips were sealed. But you are right, she didn't want you to know even if you could, not because she didn't trust you, but because she wanted to keep you and your family safe." Castle scoffs at that and Jim presses on, "Do you want to know what she told me when I asked her why I couldn't let you know? Do you know what she said?" This gets Castles attention. "She freaked out, Rick. She-completely-freaked-out," Jim puts emphasizes on every word. "We had this one phone call per week, and one night, I asked her to be allowed to tell you because I simply couldn't keep looking at your tortured face. And upon hearing it, she completely panicked," explains Jim, closing his eyes tiredly on the memory. "And you know how I know this?" he asks and purposefully waits for Castles reaction. Only when Castle shakes his head does Jim continue. "I know how scared she was at the thought Rick, because she told me it could cost her her life. _Her_ life. See Rick, I know my daughter better than anybody else. And I know for a fact that she would never use that argument against me, _never_, except when she was completely desperate and absolutely scared of what I might do."

"Only proves my point," Castle utters quietly.

"No it doesn't!" Jim interjects, "That's where you are wrong," he groans, growing agitated. Castle cannot blame him. None of this makes sense. "She needed you safe Rick, you and your family, and me, she wanted us all safe. And that could only happen if everybody thought she was dead."

Castle only shakes his head. "I could have kept her secret," he protests stubbornly.

"And I don't doubt that, not for a second." Jim heaves a deep sigh. "Trust me, there was a long time I couldn't understand it myself, couldn't understand why Katie was so opposed against the idea, but then I thought about it and now I'm asking you to think about it too, Rick. And think about it hard." Castle gives him a confused yet stubborn look that Jim returns as fiercely. "If I told you Katie was alive, what would you have done?" Castle stays quiet. "First thing, you would want to make sure for yourself, wouldn't you?" claims Jim and it's barely a question, they both know it's true. "But you couldn't do that, because you weren't supposed to know in the first place. So what would you do then?" He gives Castle another couple of seconds to contemplate his question. "You would call me, right? Every Sunday evening, meet me for dinner, talk to me as often as possible -"

"We still did that," Castle protests.

"Yes, but we did it as a ritual, something that mourning people do," Jim offers softly. "Nothing fancy or exciting. Just two people helping each other to carry their grief."

"But that's the point, if you told me, I didn't have to mourn her," Castle replies in hiss, his anger rising again. His chest clenches with pain at the memory of the shiny white casket and blood red roses. It was all for nothing, just a freak show to throw them all off.

"Exactly!" agrees Jim, his eyes shining with zeal to make Castle understand. "And people might have noticed! Your lack of shock and grief, your need to call me, meet me, going on with your life like you were merely _waiting _for something to happen…_that_ would be the most suspicious thing to do."

"I could have pretended, I could have done that," objects Castle, but his voice is lacking conviction. Jim's eyes soften.

"You may have Rick, but you may have not. It was…safer this way. Not easier, no. But safer. I am…" Jim starts, sighs. He runs his fingers through his hair. "I am not trying to justify anything, nor trying to belittle your pain and sacrifice. I am just trying to explain, Rick. Explain to you that my daughter decided not to tell you not because she didn't care, but because she cared too much."

"I could have kept her secret," Castle repeats stubbornly in a chant, but the fight has already left him. He knows, deep down, that Jim is right. That he would never do the things he did if he knew she was out there, somewhere, waiting to be reunited. He would have been edgy, and even sad, impatient and angry, nosy and grumpy. But he would go on with his life still, would continue to write books, continue to write Nikki, would maybe throw a fake heartfelt dedication into his newest book that would be meant as a secret message for only her to decipher, something of an inside joke. He would 'pretend' to be devastated. And yes, it would only be pretending. And some people, who'd be looking too closely, might notice.

"My daughter would never forgive herself if anything happened to you, or to your mother and daughter, all only because she was too desperate to let you know the truth. It would be something she'd view as utterly selfish." Jim continues after a beat of silence, sadly shaking his head. "Katie knew what she was doing. It may appear cold and inconsiderate of her at the first sight, but the very opposite is the truth; she didn't tell you to protect you, despite knowing - better than anybody else probably - what that would to you, how she would break your heart; and that you might never forgive her for that lie. And trust me Rick, I've heard it, felt it, every single time we talked over the phone, how that knowledge of what she had put you and your friends through, put _me_ through, weighted on her." Jim's eyes mist over, shying from Castle's momentarily. "I could never as much as alleviate that crushing burden of responsibility I could hear in her voice each and every time we talked."

Despite himself, Rick is intrigued by Jim's words. And a little ashamed too. As for now, he didn't spend a single thought on how that must have been for Kate, the past eight months. How _she_ must have felt, locked up and lonely, considered dead to the world, by her family friends, everybody but her father.

"We've had a single phone call every Sunday night. One hour," Jim explains, as if sensing Castle's sudden interest and need to fill in the blanks. "That first one was the hardest. When she made me go over the details of her funeral, asking me about _you_…see she always asked about you, one way or another," he said, a sad smile gracing his lips. "I suspected there was more between the two of you but she never told me, so I just assumed she cared about you a great deal but never found the courage to actually admit her feelings openly."

A tight lump forms in Castles throat.

"It all fell together only once I've read that dedication you wrote for her. Trust me Rick, until then, I've had no idea. But after reading it, and your admission, a lot of things suddenly started to make sense."

"What things?" asks Castle, suddenly desperate for more information, wanting to know more, wanting to know more about her, about Kate. _God, Kate_. Something stirs inside of his chest, a warm and fuzzy, breezy feeling he hasn't felt in ages. He doesn't want to dissect what exactly it stands for, not just yet. But he already has an idea, even as he forces the caring and affectionate emotions aside.

Jim gives another saddened smile. "Like why she asked me if you told me where she was the night she presumably died." Castle's face grows hot. "Or why she felt so guilty over you. And why you were so utterly devastated upon learning of her death, why you felt guilty and responsible for what has happened to her. And why she felt so trapped, so desperate, so in need to escape the place she's been at for so long. See, they told her it would take weeks, months tops. She could never have expected to be gone for so long. I think they might have suspected she would never agree to that, I don't know." Jim sighs, his eyes wandering to the half empty glass of liquor on Castle's desk. Castle's eyes follow Jim's, his breath getting stuck in his lungs in mortification. He swipes the glass away, shoving it into his desk unceremoniously along with the bottle.

Jim eyes cloud wistfully, but his small smile is actually warm. "That night at The Old Haunt, when you served the small ceremony over your newest book," he starts, "that night I realized Katie must have told you about my drinking."

If earth could swallow him whole, Castle would wish it could happen at this very moment. "I'm sorry," he babbles, but Jim shakes his concerns away with a light wave of his hand. "It's alright, I don't mind. It actually revealed more about Katie's feelings for you to me than anything else." Castle's eyebrows grow at that statement, urging Jim to explain.

"See, Katie, as you surely know Rick, is a highly private, self-reliant person. I know there are not more than a handful of people to whom she ever told about…_my little problem_." Jim screws his face in discomfort, something akin to shame stealing across his face. "That's when I knew you must be really special to her. I know, for a fact, she hasn't told this to any of her previous boyfriends. Except for that Sorenson guy, but the two of them go way beyond, back to the time when I was still struggling to sober up. It was harder to hide it then." He is clearly ashamed now, Castle can see, and he feels a sudden surge of sympathy for him.

"I am sure you did the best you knew, back at that time," he offers, winces when he realized how that must have sounded. Jims gives a mirthless laugh.

"Not nearly enough, son. I should've been there for her," he says in shame, biting his lip in what Castle is sure now must be a classic Beckett trademark. "I wonder, up until this day," Jim continues ever so quietly, "have I been there for her back then, like the parent I was supposed to be, would her life turned out differently."

It's Castle's turn to plead Kate's case, because he knows for a fact she would never want her father to feel this way. "I don't know Jim. But I think she'd still enter the academy, still become a cop, still chase her mother's murderers, no matter how much you'd have tried to be there for her," he says earnestly. He doubts anybody could have stopped her back then, probably not even her father. She was too far gone, too shaken by the injustice of the system, too obsessed with her cause to let anything and anybody stop her. He understands that now.

Jim's eyes rise to Rick's and although he doesn't look too convinced, he gives a tiny nod of acknowledgement. "I still think I destroyed something in her back then. With my actions, or better said, in-actions. I think I ruined her trust in people. Formed her belief that she can never count on another human being to take care of her and that she needs to feel like nobody is to be trusted but herself. And that has certainly…complicated things for her, in more ways than one. Mostly for her private life, her relationships," Jim offers and Castle is again shocked by the man's openness in these things, the sincerity behind his words. Jim Beckett must really consider him a friend. He feels honored before he feels his heart sink a little in his chest. Because Castle knows that this moment deserves honesty and he cannot tell that he completely disagrees with Jim's words, his reasoning.

Still, "She's a complicated person." Castle replies, watches Jim nod sadly. "But that's part of what makes her so special, exceptional and unique. And I wouldn't have her any other way," Castle adds and sees Jim raise his eyes surprisingly to his.

"You are a good man, Rick," offers Jim quietly. They sit for a moment in silence, both of them lost in their thoughts.

A thought occurs to Castle, a memory pressing itself to the forefront of his mind. "My latest book, the dedication. It was for her, wasn't it?" Castle asks, the realization suddenly hitting him with the force of a loaded truck. "Why did you let me sign it?" he asks, and there is the slightest trace of accusation in his voice again.

"Because she needed it," Jim explains. "She's been depressed, for weeks. The case was going nowhere, her life was escaping her, disappearing through her fingers. She was still agonizing over you, the lack of contact from you, what she did to you. I could hear it in her voice on the phone, how she was degrading, how she was starting to give up, submitting to the notion that she was never coming back. That even if she was, things could never be the same again, that she could never have a life she so much wanted. I knew the only thing able to give her hope was something of you. And what better way to do that than through your book?" Jim offers, but Castle doesn't fully understand and Jim seems to catch on that. "There is still so much you don't know about my daughter, but this is something she should have the chance to explain to you herself," Jim concludes, slightly apologetic.

"Did it help? The book I mean. Did it help her?" Castle cannot stop himself from asking, watching in surprise when Jim's face splits into a huge smile.

"It did Rick, and you'll probably never know how much."

Castle averts his eyes, hides his gaze in the tiny crack in the surface of his table, result of one of his wild laser tag chases through the loft with Alexis a couple of years ago. He realizes he wants to believe Jim so badly, wants to believe Kate cared about him the same way he cared about her, still cares about her.

The thought startles him, the present tense his mind forces him to operate with. It's a new feeling, yet still oddly familiar. He doesn't know what to do with it so he stores it somewhere back in his mind to be dealt with later.

"She asked me to look after you, you know," says Jim, lost in his own memories. "Every single week, she asked about you, about news about you and your family. I think those might have been her only positive, albeit tainted and bittersweet moments throughout her entire week of non-contact with the outside world."

"Where was she? What happened to her?" Castle finds himself asking, slightly ashamed he has to ask her father for information on her because he didn't care to ask her herself when he had the chance. Jim gives a bitter smile.

"So you noticed the change in appearance too, huh?" he meets Rick's eyes, a flash of understanding passing between the two men. Jim continues.

"She lost at least 10 pounds, though that's just my rough estimate because she refuses to tell me the exact figure. Keeps evading my questions, tells me she wasn't much hungry because she got so little time out. But we both know she's lost weight and we both know it's not because the FBI couldn't afford to properly feed her."

Castle's eyes shy away. He feels oddly responsible. "And you've lost a lot of weight too," Jim observes quietly, watching Castle closely now and the younger man squirms uncomfortably in his chair.

"I'm fine," he says, which makes Jim click his tongue in dissatisfaction. "You and my daughter sound just the same," he says, party amused, party annoyed. It earns him a sheepish look from Castle.

Jim grows serious again. "Do you think you can ever give her another chance, Rick?" he asks unexpectedly and all air rushes from Castles lungs. "You have to understand, I truly didn't come here to plead her case, but I wouldn't be a very good father if I didn't ask." He explains, slightly uncomfortable.

Castle doesn't answer right away. He feels trapped. This is a private matter, why does everybody keep butting in? Why does everybody demand an answer? And why the hell is everybody putting this on him?

"She cares about you," says Jim. "Like I've never seen her care for another man before," He sighs. "And I wish I could offer her everything she needs right now, but I am not even close. I know she is working on getting back her friends," he meets Castle's surprised gaze. "But I know she'd still feel lonely if she wouldn't get back you, too. And I don't want to pressure you or tell you what to do, Rick," he sighs, suddenly sounding way too old and tired. "But I lost my wife, so I know a little about how you felt the last couple of months. And I swear, I would be mad as hell if my wife suddenly appeared on my doorstep and told me it was all but a lie. There would be a lot of anger and bitterness, but at the end of the day, I would still thank God or some higher deity that she was alive and safe." He looks at Rick then and the brutal truth of his words glistering in Jim's eyes rattles Castle to the core. He has to avert his gaze, the intensity of Jim's look too much.

"It's not a matter of anger," Castle says quietly, looking anywhere but at Jim.

"So you don't love her anymore?" Jim asks, and there is pain for his daughter in his voice and words, but also understanding for Rick. It's this that convinces Castle that he can be honest with Jim, that whatever he tells him will never leave this room because he will be telling it to Jim 'his friend', and not Jim 'Kate's father'.

He shakes his head. "It's not that either," he utters in a whisper. "I never really stopped loving your daughter Jim, you must have noticed that by now." He gives Jim a self-deprecating smile. "I just pushed those feelings down, really deep. And I'm finding it a real struggle to retrieve them back, unharmed. But I know they are there, dusty, but intact."

"Yet something is holding you back," Jim observes and Castle lets out a heavy sigh. He has a hard time defining the thing itself.

"I don't know how I am supposed to trust her again," he blurts out, admitting the truth at last, not just to Jim, but to himself too.

Jim ponders his words for a while. "You're afraid of what she might do in the future? That she might run away on you, again?" he asks carefully and Castle nods, moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes. He can suddenly feel how much he craves a solution for this, how much he wants that unshakeable trust in Kate restored.

"She won't disappear on you like that ever again," Jims says resolutely, grabbing one of Castle hands over the table.

"How can you know?" Rick asks, not hostile but genuinely confused, lost, his voice slightly trembling. He wouldn't survive it again, and the mere thought scares the shit out of him. How can he give himself so freely to her again when he cannot trust this won't happen again, somehow, somewhere?

"She promised she was done with her mother's case," says Rick at last, "That very morning she took that damn deal, she looked into my eyes and promised me she didn't care about it anymore. And yet, just a couple of hours later, she disappeared on me, left everything in her life stand still as she rushed over to resolve it. What if the man behind your wife's murder won't get convicted? What if someone from his past emerges again? What if this is not over?" All these possibilities scare him, he's never dared to voice them, but now that they are out, Castle understands what's been holding him back these past few days. Fear, utter terror of being abandoned, left behind, by Kate again. He can see the understanding, the pain for him in Jim's eyes, but he doesn't want compassion, he wants answers, desperately needs reassurances, cold logic and calculating reasoning to convince him.

"You really think her disappearing act had anything to do with taking revenge on her mother's killers?" Jim asks, and the question throws Castle off.

"Didn't it?" he asks, confused.

Jim shakes his head. "Of course not," he says somewhat indignant, then softens his voice. "I'm sorry Rick. I sometimes forget the only side you've seen of Kate was that case-obsessed one. You never actually got to see the one she developed over the past few months." Castle's thoroughly befuddled by his words and Jim can see he's not doing a particularly good job at explaining himself. He tries anew. "Rick, the only thing I've heard my daughter obsess about in the past eight months was the life she left behind. She's been relentlessly working on that case, yet she refused to talk about it, because she didn't care about it. At least not in the capacity you would expect her to. She wanted it done, over with, yes. Of course she wanted to get justice, but she was more concerned about when she could come home, back to the things she left unresolved to pick up them up again," Jim argues and Castle wants so much to believe him.

"You really want to know what tipped the scales for her, Rick? What made her accept that impossible offer?" Castle isn't sure he wants to know, but Jim offers anyway.

"I think she would never have told me, not if she were her usual self. But the solitude was getting to her in the past few months and she told me things I am sure she would never want to burden me with if there was any other way to avoid it. It was our first call after she received your book and Rick, she was as emotional as I've ever heard my daughter. She read your dedication by then, read them both. That's how she knew…" Jim stopped for a beat, giving Castle a sheepish look, "That I had to know too, about the morning she disappeared." Castle feels his face grow hot again, but he strains his ears to hear every single one of Jim's words, not realizing he's holding his breath, slightly rocking closer to him over the table.

"She was a wreck, that day and it might have scared me if I didn't know it was the first real emotion I've heard in her voice for weeks. She told me a little about it then, how she thought about walking away from that van even when she knew there was an assassin waiting for her at her apartment. But she knew that if she stayed, she would most probably be dead in a matter of weeks—"

"I would have protected her," Castle jumps in, his voice dripping with fierce conviction.

"And that's what she was really afraid of," supplies Jim gently, "That you, or possibly even your daughter or mother by extension, could get hurt by this thing. You've already tried to take a bullet for her once, Rick." Jim reminds him, raising his eyebrows pointedly at Castle. "And she wouldn't risk that, wouldn't take that up on her conscience. That's why she took that deal, Rick; not because she was blinded by the prospect of getting revenge for her mother's death, but to end this thing once and for all so you all could be safe."

"And what if it won't end?" asks Castle in a raspy voice. "What if sometime in the future, some of Collins' military cells becomes active again to come hunt her again, or another serial killer fixates on her? Will she push me away again to keep me safe? How can I trust she won't make such a rash decision again?"

Jim gives a mighty sigh. "I guess that's why it's called trust Rick, you cannot get guarantees for that. It's a belief like any other. But," he continues when he sees Rick's doubts being merely affirmed by his words, "I've seen the change in my daughter, Rick. I don't know whether it came before or after this whole mess happened, but I know her enough to tell you that she wants to live, as fully as she can, she just doesn't know how to do that yet. The past few months certainly haven't contributed to that." Jim gives a small pause then looks at Castle with a newly found resolve in his eye. "I tell you what Rick. How about you come by sometime, when you feel ready. You're most welcome, anytime. Just to talk, nothing more. Katie could certainly use some company, a friendly face to talk to other than mine. Maybe this way the both of you can get some of your bearings again." He offers carefully and something inside of Castle rings the alarming bells. He doesn't know why, but Jim's words cause sudden panic rising in his chest. Truth is, he has no idea how Kate is right now, in what shape of body and mind she existed in ever since she disappeared. And something in Jim's words, albeit very slightly, suggests she's not doing that well either. He desperately wants, _needs_, to know more, make sure this is all just his imagination.

"What about Esposito, Ryan, Lanie? Did she talk to them yet?" Somehow, he hopes she did, that she has at least her friends back. He doesn't want to imagine her like that, sitting all alone in her father's house, no home, no job, no friends, no purpose in life. Despite his residual resentment, he hates the idea of her having to go through another painful conversation alike the one the two of them had. And with such a disastrous outcome nonetheless.

Jim's eyes shy away slightly. "She's met with them yesterday. I don't know the details, only that it didn't go that well with all of them."

Castle's chest clenches. He has a sudden urge to see her, hug her, to shield her from the harshness of the outside world.

"I'm sure they'll come around soon, though," Jim suggest more lightly, his look pointed, the tiniest smile dancing over his lips. And Castle suddenly knows that Jim's debunked him, read his thoughts clearly on his face. And that Jim now knows. That he's got him; that _she's_ got him. Got him back.

TBC

_AN – I love writing Jim. He's such an awesome character, I wish we could see more of him on the show. Anyway, thoughts, anyone?_


	13. Chapter 12 Beckett and her Friends

_Thank you, again, for the wonderful response to the previous chapter. Especially those who chose to come out of their lurker's hiding to leave feedback, I really, really appreciate that!_

**BECKETT AND HER FRIENDS**

It's been _already_ a whole day and he hasn't called, hasn't messaged, hasn't done…anything. It's been _only_ a day and she is already climbing the walls at her father's place. She's unpacked her things, thoroughly this time, not just haphazardly thrown them out of the suitcases and laid out in random places, no. She's given it a real thought, made it a mission of hers. She's been _arranging_ the items that have been her only companions for the greater part of the past year around this room that would be her new home for quite a while, at least until she could find a new place for herself. She put all her things in an order than felt natural, felt good, felt right to Kate. Made her feel at least a little bit more at home here.

She _is_ home, Kate has to remind herself, this is her father's place and despite that it isn't the house she grew up in, it's still a place she has come to visit her dad at for the past eight years. She's even spent part of her summer here a the year she got shot. So why does she feel so oddly displaced here? Like she doesn't belong.

She is taking her time with the room, spends the whole of morning up until late afternoon decorating it, making herself at home. Her father gives her permission to take and use whatever furniture and stuff from the house she likes, but she goes for the items in the dusted boxes stocked in his garage instead. She is rummaging through the mountains of furniture, decorations and memorabilia like a treasure hunter at a yards sale, in search for some familiar items they've moved and stocked here from their former home, stuff her father kept boxed for nearly a decade now and never got to actually unpack.

She understands his reasons completely, for her morning is spend with her stomach curling into tight painful knots whenever she hits a box with items that hold particularly familiar, sentimental or heart-crushing memories. Which are nearly all of them.

However, she finds what she's looking for, something to make her feel more comfortable, more familiar, more at ease. She takes a nice, ancient lamp her mother used to love, a wide wooden chair with pealing white paint that used to belong to their former kitchen table, a couple of patchwork cushions she made her mom sew for her when she was just about to leave for college, a huge world map that used to hang in said college room for the short time of her only semester at Stanford, a favorite duvet they all used to curl under while watching movies when she was still a little girl. She even finds an antique wooden clock that used to belong to her grandfather, the amateur magician, along with a deck of cards that was hidden under an odd assortment of strange looking magic-trick props.

She takes these things up into her room with her, feeling inexplicably embarrassed at the thought of moving in with her father again, a woman nearly mid her thirties, but she gulps down her pride, decides she will make this work.

She scrubs the room clean, goes along with the bathrooms up- and downstairs, then cleans the whole kitchen, proceeds with the majority of the house. Her father is a tidy enough person but still, he is a guy without a woman in the house, and it shows.

She puts all her frustration and vigor into the task at hand, unable to stay still, sit down and relax, because she knows what kind of thoughts will come haunting her if she allows her mind and body at least a minute of unsupervised rest.

The fiasco of a reunion with Castle is still at the forefront of her mind. It doesn't let her sleep, doesn't allow her to relax her tense muscles, won't allow her red-rimmed eyes to soothe.

She's screwed it up, all of it, both of them, so badly. And so far it looks like there is no easy way back. Maybe no way back at all. She mentally slaps herself for that thought, refuses to think like that. She so works; cleans; cooks; will do anything really, if it only keeps her depressing thoughts at bay.

She isn't naïve. She didn't expect him at her door an hour after she dropped the bomb at his place last night, happy and forgiving, but she would be lying if she said she didn't hope for him to take some time to cool down a little and then call her, maybe with some more questions, demands, accusations, anger even. She could take all that, and she would take it gladly. What she can't deal with is this deafening silence on his end, silence that stretches from the late night into the early morning hours and late afternoon as she keeps herself busy with slowly rebuilding her life, starting from the simplest things.

Still it doesn't help; the room, the house. Not even her father. She feels very much as dead as she was the previous day, the previous eight months. Nobody knows she is alive outside her father and now also Castle, who apparently doesn't know what to do with the information as it is right now.

So after doing her laundry and fixing some dinner for her and her dad, darkness looming outside the windows once again, she feels ready to crawl out of her skin with buzzing energy and nerves. She needs to get out, either that or start crying again, and she's finished with crying, has had enough of that in the previous months to last her a lifetime. She is out of that damn house, is allowed to go outside, venture into the world, find other means to release her anger, sadness or frustration.

Her father seems to understand her needs, doesn't pressure her into talking or indulging in some common activities, gives her the space. And when after dinner she announces she's going for a run, he doesn't utter a single word in protest, despite the chilly snowfall weather outside the windows. She doesn't even have proper shoes and it's truly freezing. Still, she needs this and her father must sense this too, God bless him. Mild hypothermia or ensuing cold must seem a far better option than the two of them staying locked up in the same house for the next couple of hours.

Kate has to admit that so far, her father's being extremely gracious and generous about all of this, giving her space and letting her be. She knows he must be itching with the need for her, after all, he hasn't seen her in nearly eight months either. And still, so far he's been more considerate of her than she could ever expect of him. She makes a mental note to thank him later, when she comes back, makes a point to make it up to him, let him know how very much everything he's done for her, is _still_ doing for her in fact, is appreciated.

She takes her sneakers, the only pair she currently possesses, using an impregnation spray on them, like that could really help against inches of show. She puts on a couple layers of clothing, which is an odd mixture really; tries as best as she can to shield herself from the cold. She really should do some so much needed shopping as soon as possible. Maybe tomorrow? The day after that?

She goes for her run. And when she comes back two hours later, sweaty, soaked, spend yet slightly more relaxed and lighthearted than before, her head is finally clear. She's made up her mind and she knows now that she cannot stay a ghost any longer, not even a single day. She seeks out her father, sitting in the living room by the TV, watching some sports game and asks him without preamble to invite her friends over the next day under a pretense. She wants to talk to them, she tells her dad, wants to crawl out of her hiding. She doesn't add that she needs their support right now more than she ever did in the past. Her father seems to understand anyway. He gives a slight nod in her direction, tells her to consider it done.

He leaves to make the calls and she is glad, really glad, for the first time since yesterday. She sinks into the cushioned armchair, oblivious of her state of clothes, buries her face into her hands.

She's been thinking about trying to talk to them separately, but she probably wouldn't be able to stomach the revelation for more times than one. Even Castle was already one time too many. Her heart twists in her chest painfully at the thought, at the look he gave her as he opened the door, at the mere sight of him, still in his pajamas, disheveled, unkempt and unshaven, dark circles running under his eyes. He's lost weight, she noticed right on, a _lot_. She did some of that herself, but where she seems to have gained more muscle from her heavy workouts he seemed to simply have _lost_ the mass. In fact, he looked even thinner than when she first met him, and it wasn't a healthy kind of thin either.

She sits in the armchair, running her hands through her wet hair, willing the thoughts of him to go away. Feeling guilt or worry over it won't help either of them. He knows the truth now and he needs time, and she is willing to give him that. Anything he needs, really; whatever he needs to feel happy again. _Maybe what would really make him happy would be you not messing in his life again_, a small voice in the back of her mind hisses, but she wills the thought away. This is Castle's call to make, Castle's decision. She can only wait.

He father returns into the room after a while, his look gloomy, but he nods at her nevertheless. "They'll be here tomorrow night, around eight," he offers gently, "if they won't catch a body. I merely told them there was a matter I wanted to talk to them about, they didn't even ask further questions."

He watches Kate nod, takes her slowly in, sighs. "Katie, you are soaking wet. Why don't you take a shower while I make you a cup of strong tea?" he suggest, oh so gently. She looks at him, grateful, gives him a small smile. Her loving father, once upon a time her knight in shining armor. She nods, gets up from the chair, peals away the half-frozen first layers of wet clothing.

"Thanks dad," she utters as she passes him by, stopping at his side to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "Love you."

She takes a quick shower and returns downstairs afterwards, refusing to listen to her inner voice that calls her to hole up in her room and sulk. No, that would be way too easy. And Kate Beckett doesn't do easy. She joins her father in the living room, pleased to see him muting the television in her favor, a steaming cup of herbal tea already sitting on the table.

She thinks for a moment about what to do, what to say. Then a thought comes to her mind, what she found in one of the boxes earlier today. She crosses the room, opens the drawer she's hidden it in, the ancient deck of cards. She smiles victoriously, showing the cards to her dad. "Game of rummy? I'll play your pants off," she challenges, watches the recognition, the delight, the affection come alight on her father's wrinkled face. _Oh, dad._

He smiles, nods. They play late into the night, and Kate is actually having fun.

She's hiding in her room when her closest friends arrive the next day though, all at once, Esposito, Ryan, Lanie. She is sitting on her bed, her hands slightly trembling, forcing herself to take deep gulps of air. She can do this.

She can hear them downstairs, their voices muted yet distinguishable and oh so painfully familiar. Her father appears at her door a moment later, gives her that look that tells her it's time. He's got his keys in his hand, his jacket slung around his arm. He's giving them the privacy of an empty house and once again, she is amazed at how considerate and generous he seems to be with this, how well he knows her. She crosses the room, presses a soft kiss against his withered cheek. In return, her dad envelopes her in a warm hug she never wants to escape from, protective and safe. "You can do this Katie," he whispers against her hair and she wills herself to believe him. "Call me if you need anything, okay?" She nods against his shoulder and follows him down the stairs, halting at the very last bottom step. Her dad turns around, sends her an encouraging smile. The next moment is he gone, and she doesn't have any more time to mentally prepare herself for what is to come because she can already hear her friends wondering aloud where Jim's disappeared to, having heard the door shut behind him.

She takes one last deep breath before turning the corner, walking into the room. Three sets of eyes settle on her, three sets of mouths stop talking at once and drop open. It would have been funny, if only it wasn't so gut-wrenching.

"Hey, guys." It's a stupid thing to say.

A vase shatters against the wall, followed by a string of loud Spanish curses. It's been fifteen minutes and she's just finished her monologue, explaining as best as she could the past eight months to her friends, still standing close to the doorway yet holding her ground. She could see it in their faces, the whole process, how their expressions went from shocked through astounded to disbelieving and then finally realization hit them, that this was really true. Then she saw the anger, the hurt, the betrayal. That's when the vase broke, Esposito's nerves having snapped at last, sending the first offensive piece of furniture crashing against the wall.

"Javi, I'm sorry," she pleads but he's already halfway to the door, the fury bordering on hatred shocking her as he passes her by. She spins after him, calling his name, but the door slams shut behind him. She turns back to the two remaining people, her heart painfully fluttering in her chest.

Ryan is sitting there, shock still sitting deep in his eyes, mouth slightly agape. She can see he's trying to work through it, slowly, methodically. He rises to his feet at last and she panics, not him too! But when he crosses the room, his arms come up to envelope her in a tight, warming hug and unshed tears finally spill from her eyes.

"I'm just glad you're okay," he says, his own voice trembling as he nearly moans with relief. She hugs him tighter to her, her little brother, the first person to actually welcome the fact that she's not dead; or so it appears as she lets his brotherly warmth envelope her. He disentangles at last and she is surprised, but then maybe not that much, to see his blue eyes glisterwith unshed tears too. God, those blue eyes, how they only remind her of Castle's now. She is back on that roof, Ryan's head shaking at her in denial.

"I'll talk to him, don't worry. He'll come around," he tells her, giving her one more quick hug and then he's out the door too, leaving her standing still and surprised in her spot. She takes a deep breath, turns to the last remaining person, her best friend, preparing herself for the fight.

She expects to find anger and betrayal on her friend's face, expects to have her ear talked off for this, but she is met with deadly silence. Her heart sinks at the disappointment and disbelief she finds in Lanie's eyes and her own eyes drop to the ground in inexplicable shame.

"Lanie, I…" she starts, but trails off. She expected the ME to stop her, talk across her, because she knows how bad Beckett is with words, but she doesn't. She merely sits there, expectant. And _hurt_.

"I'm sorry," Kate whispers to the room that suddenly feels way too large, separating her from her friend by miles rather than a few feet. Lanie just shakes her head and Kate's suddenly frustrated; she cannot read the gesture, doesn't understand it. After a long while, Lanie finally speaks, but it's in a grave, quiet tone, so unfamiliar of her.

"How could you do that to us Kate? _Why_ would you do that to us?" she asks, her dark eyes sparkling.

"You know why," Kate says, uncomfortably shifting in her spot, feeling like a small child being reprimanded.

"Do I, now?" asks Lanie accusingly, her moist eyes and trembling lip belying the sharpness of her voice.

"It was to protect you," Kate defends but Lanie won't have any of it.

"Nuh-uh, you put us through hell Kate Beckett! Me, the boys_ and_ Castle," Kate flinches at the last name, "and I won't let you use that argument as an excuse."

Lanie's angry but that's good, that's something Kate can work with, if only her own anger and frustration wasn't starting to seep into her tone and posture too. Why does nobody understand?

"It's not an_ excuse_, Lanie," she snaps back sharply, short-tempered. "There was a very real trained killer hired to murder me at my apartment the day the FBI snatched me. If I wouldn't take what they offered and disappeared, I'd be dead for real by now or on the run endangering everybody who'd be in any association with me, including the boys, _you_, my dad or Castle," she argues but Lanie already shakes her head.

"I'm not talking about that Kate, I get that part, alright?" she says in a loud yet measured voice, taking all the wind from Kate's speech. "But I can't believe you let us all believe you'd been murdered," accuses Lanie, her voice still shaky and eyes glistering in the dim light of the room.

"Lanie, I know, alright? I know it's hard…"

"You know nothing, Kate Beckett!" Lanie shouts and Kate flinches back from the broken tone of her friend's voice. "I was at your apartment that morning Kate; I saw your damn corpse! Hell, I personally pulled that chain with your mother's ring from around your neck…or whomever's poor neck that was, okay? So I think I deserve - I think _we all_ deserve - to be a little angry for your scam here," she spats, her hands curled into tight fists at her sides.

"I couldn't tell you Lanie, they wouldn't allow it," replies Kate, her voice gaining a desperate lilt, "God knows I wanted to but I simply _couldn't_! And it was for the best, it was for _your_ protection too!" She knows shouting is a bad move, but she cannot help herself, her frustration growing inside of her. Why is everybody putting this on her? Why is everybody making her the bad guys here? She didn't call the shots, she was merely a pawn in the FBI's game yet here they all are, blaming her for things she had absolutely no control over.

"Our protection…" Lanie repeats indignantly, "Do you have any idea what your _protection_," she spats the word, "had costs? How it broke Ryan? Devastated Javi? How it hurt me? How it nearly _killed_ Castle?"

Again, the mention of Castle makes Kate recoil, the haunted look, those sunken eyes and the way too thin frame swimming in front of her eyes again, the guilty knowledge festering in her stomach. She feels sick. "I couldn't tell you, alright!" she shouts back desperately, tears spilling from her eyes and she hates it, hates them, hates everything right now. "I cannot believe _you_ of all people don't get it, that Esposito doesn't get it, that you act like this was something I did to all of you on purpose!" she accuses.

"Well, what did you expect?" Lanie retaliates, "You make us believe you were dead and then come back eight months later expecting us to take you back like it never happened?" her words knock the wind out of Kate's lungs. They cut too close, are too familiar, too similar to what Castle said to her only two days prior, but Lanie continues ruthlessly. "And how dare you to do this to Javi, after what he's been through with Ike, after what he's been through with his former partner? How can you even _wonder_ that he's pissed? You're so damn selfish, Kate!"

Lanie's completely enraged now, so much she fails to see Kate sway in her spot. She has a problem taking up air, her world spinning. She's losing them, her friends, her family, losing them all. And she doesn't understand it, doesn't get it, the _why_. She merely tried to do the right thing for them all, and it's not enough. Everything's gone, everybody's gone. She's got nothing and no one and it's on her. She shakes her head, stumbles back, then forward again, until somehow her bottom finds the nearest surface she can rest on. The coffee table, her mind hazily supplies.

"Well, it wasn't exactly a picnic for me either, Lanie," she utters ever so quietly, bitterly, her throat closed up in a tight fist, heart beating wildly. She feels…defeated. The realization only comes now, in an aftermath; her death, her father, Castle, Javier, Lanie…too many to sacrifice. A fat tear glides down her cheek, then another. "I've lost everything Lanie," she whispers, and insanely, a tiny sad smile comes to settle on her face. She looks towards Lanie, but she's not really looking at her, her gaze unfocused, suddenly tired. "I've got no home, I've got no life, no job and no friends." _And it appears I've lost the man I love too_, Kate adds silently in her head while she shrugs, then hiccups the same moment a mirthless laugh escapes her lips. "So..uhm, I'm sorry if I'm not in a particularly submissive or humble mood. I…I know that what I've done appears inexcusable, because yes, I knew how much it would hurt you all when I took the deal. Still, I did it for all the right reasons, Lanie, at least believe that."

Her gaze is still unfocused, following the line of her arms and settling on her hands, absentmindedly observing her fingernails digging into the fabric of her shirt, protracting her sleeves, a nervous, twitching gesture. Another tear cascades down her face and Kate finds she doesn't care anymore; is simply just waiting for Lanie to rise to her feet and leave too, like everybody else.

But her friend doesn't go anywhere, doesn't shift in her spot, sits there, unmoving on the couch the same way Kate sits on the table, in silence. "It's alright Lanie, you can go," Kate blurts out despite the fact that her mind screams the exact opposite at her. Still, if Lanie wants to go, there is not much Kate can go about it; she can hardly chain her to radiator in order to keep her friend close.

She smiles a little at that. That sounded like something Castle may have said. She's too lost in her own thoughts to notice at first when Lanie's hand comes to cover hers, so lost in fact her friend needs to squeeze Kate's hand tightly to gain her attention.

"Nuh-uh, Kate Beckett. No way in hell am I going anywhere now that I've got you back," she says in a quite, slightly annoyed tone, clicking her tongue in such a Lanie-ish way that it makes Kate's head snap up, surprised laughter bubbling in her chest. Before she can properly look into Lanie's face, she's being enveloped in a tight hug, one of Lanie's hands coming to cradle her head.

"Doesn't mean I'm still not mad!" Lanie warns, but her tone is lighter, more teasing, and Kate finds herself relaxing in the embrace.

"Thank you, Lanie," she whispers against her friend's head, the raven hair coming to tickle her chin as Lanie bobs her head up and down. "You're welcome," she murmurs back before finally disentangling and Kate is surprised to see tear tracks on her friends cheeks.

"Now on another topic, what the hell are you wearing, girl?" Lanie asks in mock indignation, seizing Kate up and down dramatically in at attempt to lighten the mood a little. "It's winter and you've got a pair of khakis and a summer blouse? Heavens, what have they done to your closet?"

Kate would have taken offense, she really would, if it only didn't feel so damn good to be reprimanded by her best friend once again. A lets out a small laugh, then seizes Lanie's hand.

"C'mon Lanie, I'm gonna show you something."

TBC

_Thoughs? Ideas? Likes? Dislikes? In the mood for some more girl time? ;) _


	14. Chapter 13 Beckett and Lanie

_You guys simply rock! I apologize for not replying to your reviews, but I am on vacation and don't have nearly any time online. I still hope to be able to keep the updates coming as regularly as up until now.  
_

_But anyway, here's the next update, a little girl time, for a change.:) _

**BECKETT AND LANIE**

She takes Lanie to her newly established room, shows her around, explains about the two suitcases and her meager possession, her summery, seasonal closet. She doesn't tell her part of the reason she has so little clothes is because she filled half a suitcase with Castle's books.

"Damn, you're up for some serious shopping you poor clothes-less girl!" says Lanie and Kate has to laugh. She's missed her best friend, along with her morgue humor.

"Wanna join me?" Kate asks with a spark in her eyes, hoping she's still as good at reading Lanie and predicting her answers as she once used to be.

"Hell yeah! Next Saturday?" Lanie says, way too enthusiastically. It causes Kate to laugh some more.

It feels good to laugh again.

Kate shrugs at last. "If you're free? It's not like I have to be anywhere." They both fall silent after that. Because yes, she's nearly forgotten, basking in the return of Lanie's friendship, she's still as home- and jobless as before.

"It's a date," says Lanie after a beat, smiling broadly, her hand coming to squeeze Kate's forearm and the brunette smiles wildly back.

"I missed you," she blabbers out unable to stop herself and her cheeks flush with her boldness. She isn't usually this open, not even with Lanie. A soft, appreciating smile stretches through Lanie's face before her eyes stray somewhere behind Kate.

"_I_ wasn't obviously the only one you were missing," she says slyly and Kate turns her head, momentarily confused at the meaning behind Lanie words.

_Oh._

They are standing in front of Kate's bookshelf, her only one now, filled with the books she brought home with her from the safe house. And she immediately catches Lanie's meaning, how can she not? Because at least two thirds of the shelf is filled with Castle, _Frozen Heat_ placed not even in the line but on the top of the row of aligned books. Her heart twitches in her chest.

She wishes she could reply something coherent to Lanie, anything really, but the words are stuck in her throat, air still in her chest.

"Speaking of which," says Lanie softly, having obviously caught up at Kate's sudden stiffness, "why wasn't Castle here with us today?"

She doesn't answer immediately, just runs her hand over the spines of his books, the gesture both, subconscious and affectionate. It's not that she doesn't have an answer, oh she has one alright. She is just unable to give it. A deep sigh leaves her lips when she walks over to the bed, her hands gripping the mattress tightly as she sits down heavily, the curtain of her hair falling around her face like a shield as she bows her head.

"I've already spoken to him. A couple of days ago," she utters quietly, waiting for Lanie's reprimand of her tardiness in telling the rest of them. It never comes. Instead, the mattress dips next to her, a hand coming to rest over her clenched one.

"From your reaction, I assume he didn't take it quite so well," she observes tentatively.

"It was a disaster," Kate blurts out, feeling that familiar tremor in her chest.

"Oh girl, I'm so sorry," Sighs Lanie. "But you have to understand, it's a huge thing to take in all at once," she says soothingly and if she weren't so crushed by the memory, Kate would have actually smiled at the sudden switch in Lanie's alliance. "Let's be honest girl," Lanie continues in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood, "if it were the other way around, if _he_ faked his dead and came to you a year later with a '_Honey, I'm home_', you'd shoot him where he stood with your Glock, wouldn't you?"

"I have a Sig," replies Kate dryly, but the mental image makes her snigger. Yes, she'd definitely first kill him and then ask questions. Still, there is more to the matter, far more than Lanie is aware of, and it makes Kate's amusement disappear in a second.

Lanie must sense the change in mood, for she squeezes Beckett's hand, speaking in a light tone; "Don't worry. The boys will come around, both of them. Just give them some time and you'll have Castle following you around in no time again."

"No Lanie, you don't understand," says Kate, sighing deeply as she brings her hand up to brush her hair behind her ear in an absent-minded gesture. She looks at her friend, gives her a pointed look and Lanie falls silent, expectant.

"I…we…" Kate starts and stops again.

'_We slept together', 'He loved me', 'I still love him'_,is on the tip of her tongue, but the words won't come out that way. "It's not the same, Lanie. Not the same as it is with Espo," she says, deciding for the longer route of explaining.

"I know Kate. Hell, we _all_ know," Lanie says quietly, gently, squeezing Kate's hand. "The guy has feelings for you, _huge_ feelings. So okay, it's gonna be a bit rocky and tough for a while, but it's not like you guys haven't faced hard situations before," she offers gently, and the compassion mixed with conviction in her tone makes Kate's heart nearly burst with grief, because Lanie's trying so hard but she doesn't know half the story. Beckett shakes her head anew, wills the lump in her throat away.

"No Lanie, there's something you don't know," she says, and she turns her head to look at her friend at last. "We slept together," she offers wistfully. "Before I disappeared. He told me he loved me and we slept together."

The silence that follows is ear-splitting. Lanie's eyes grow wide, her mouth forming a little 'o'. When Kate won't say more, Lanie takes it upon herself to press her friend for more information.

"You gotta explain far more than _that_, girl," says Lanie warningly, her body bouncing on the mattress, turning fully towards Kate. "When the hell did this even happen?" she exclaims. "The last time I checked, the two of you were first bickering over some silly flight attendant bimbo, after that slowly struggling to find a balance in working together normally again and then your mom's case popped up. So when the hell did all of this happen?"

Kate winces at Lanie's summary, looking a bit sheepish and a bit hurt. Has it truly been so rocky between them? All she can remember now are his hot lips pressed against the column of her throat, his quiet declarations in the middle of the night, that twinkle in his eye when he brought her coffee in the morning, shockingly shy and delighting in the fact that she was wearing nothing but his dress shirt from the night before. Obviously, her brain decided to displace all other, less ideal memories from her mind for the time being.

"It was the day I nearly died hanging from the roof after my fight with Maddox," utters Kate at last, willing Lanie to do all the necessary connections. "We fought that morning. He tried to talk me out of investigating the case. We exchanged some well-kept secrets along with some harsh words," she says, squirming uncomfortably. How she only wishes she could take that particular fight back. "He told me he loved me then, told me he couldn't watch me run straight into harm'sway again, would walk away for good if I didn't stop."

"Oh Kate, sweetie," says Lanie, squeezing her hand again. "What did you do?"

Kate gives her a sad smile. "You know me," she shrugs helplessly, a self-deprecating snort escaping her lips, "I refused to acknowledge anything he said, shut him out instead." She watches Lanie's eyebrows rise, surprise yet comprehension on her friend's face.

"It was too much for you," her friend says, tries to guess her motives, "Hearing him say that he loves you." But Kate merely shakes her head.

"It's wasn't even the first time he told me," she utters sadly, and her voice is so quiet now Lanie has to strain her ears to hear her at all.

"_What?_" Lanie exclaims and her voice bounces around the small bedroom. "Kate Beckett, you better start talking now!"

So Kate tells her. About the shooting, about her lies, about his. About how she's been going to therapy, working slowly on getting closer to the day where she could reveal to him she'd remembered him say those words, waiting for a day where she could say them back. How it all went up in smoke with the rediscovery of her mother's case, how they argued, what they've said. How the only thing keeping her hanging from that roof was not the thought of getting revenge for her mother's murder but the thought of Castle. How she sought him out later that day after resigning from the precinct, arriving at his doorstep soaked to the bone and desperate in her quest to make amends. How she left his place the next morning with the promise of an early return only to have his world ripped apart a couple hours later by staging her own death.

Sometimes during her speech the tears start to fall again and Kate wonders where the hell they keep coming from, she should be completely depleted of them by now. She somehow manages to talk even through them while Lanie tightly grips her hand, listening quietly as she lets her friend talk.

"No wonder the poor guys was so devastated," Lanie says thoughtfully during one of Kate's hiccup pauses, running gentle circles over her friends back. Kate really wishes they'd stop saying that, all of them, how much her lie has hurt him. It just tears at her heart that much more.

"Lanie I swear, I didn't want to do it, didn't want to put him through that, especially not after…" her voice cracks, "But they gave me no choice. Maddox in my apartment meant open season on my life. And I knew he would try anything in his power to protect me. I couldn't let him try to protect me and possibly take the next bullet for me, again" she ended on a sob, seeing the devastation on Lanie's face, knowing it was mirroring her own.

The ME hugged her then, strong and fierce. "I'm so sorry sweetie, for the both of you."

It took Kate a couple of moments to pull herself together somewhat, finally disentangling from Lanie and sending her a rueful smile.

"So what exactly happened between the two of you when you saw him again?" inquires Lanie.

Kate gives another sad smile. "He was confused, shocked beyond speech, Lanie. And then livid. But that was understandable, I was expecting that," she starts, her eyes unfocused as she remembers. "But it's what he said later, when he wasn't that angry anymore, when he knew exactly what he was saying."

"Said what?" Lanie prompts.

"Basically that he was over me," said Kate with a heartbreaking tremulous smile, her voice choked and eyes watery, "That my lie forced him to move on." She turned her head away from Lanie, unable to take the twinkle of shock there. "I've lost him Lanie. I've waited too long and then I screwed it up even more. You were right, all along, he can't wait for me forever." She's twisting her hands on her lap again.

"But I told him I loved him," says Kate and there is a twinge of pride in her voice. "Told him that I'd be waiting for him if he ever changed his mind." She can feel one of Lanie's hands cover hers and she squeezes in return. "But I don't know Lanie," Kate draws a deep breath, steadying her voice, "I really think…I really think I might have lost him for good," she admits, shaking her head in frustration.

"Nuh-uh!" disagrees Lanie, "there is no way that man is over you, not after the way he smashed himself over you at his own Christmas party not even a month ago. Hell, your own father had to put him in the cab while he was still babbling and moaning your name." She means the words as a pick-me-up, but they seem to have the exact opposite effect on Kate as Lanie would have hoped.

"And then there is that." Kate speaks quietly once she manages to school the sickened expression away from her face. "I mean, even if he could somehow forgive me, get over the lie, whenever I think about what that lie's done to him…how I'll always be just a reminder of that horrible time to him, I can't see how thia can ever work. How he could one day wake in the morning, look into my face and _not_ see me for what I represented to him for the past couple of months, the source of his worst anguish and suffering. Maybe," Kate suggests tentatively, "Maybe it's better this way."

"No way Kate Beckett, you don't get to do that," hisses Lanie and Kate's taken aback by the anger in her friend's voice.

"You don't get to quit on him by justifying why it were better if the two of you weren't together, why it's better this way. It would be only too easy to agree it was for the best, but it's not. You claim you love that man and you're already giving up on him? Just because the first time he saw you after eight months thinking you were dead he didn't fall to his knees in silent prayer but instead said certain things he didn't even mean?" Kate starts to shake her head in protest, but Lanie will have none of it. "I've watched that man fall into pieces over you, and I am sure he's currently completely overwhelmed and confused with the information he's been given, so he'll need time, which, as you said, you are willing to give him. And one day, that lie won't sting so much and the loss won't feel so bad and that's the day he will show up at your doorstep seeking answers and that's the moment Kate Beckett - and you listen very carefully to me now - that's the moment the real work will only start for you. Because he'll still be broken but you'll make damn sure to be there for him, you hear me? You'll be there for him in any capacity he'll need you and you'll offer to him whatever he might need to get over this. And you will do so not because you think you _owe_ him but because you still love him, even despite the fact that he's probably a little changed and even despite the fact that he went through a crippling trauma. This man you claim to love is now hurting as hell and in desperate need for your help. And you are going to give it to him, whatever it takes, so he can heal, so you _both_ can heal. Because aunt Lanie will want to get to be a bridesmaid and a God mother to those awfully annoying, smart, foul-mouthed and utterly adorable kids you guys will one day have, you get me?" she finishes, nearly sizzling with her zest to bring her point across.

Kate looks at her friend, taking in her words. Her chest expands with warmth at Lanie's protectiveness towards Castle, Lanie carrying about him so much she feels the need to advocate for him, but the very thought of that giant hurdle lying ahead of her leaves Kate's feeling more than a little spend and tired all of a sudden. She gives Lanie a small sad smile and a tiny nod that doesn't seem to convince her friend. Lanie switches to a more serious tone, repeating her words to Kate in a slower, more moderate manner. "Kate honey, I know you feel bad. Hell, we've all been giving you hell for lying to us, but we've just been angry. Deep down, we all know – or soon enough will understand - that you had no choice. And that you did it to protect us. Is that correct?" Lanie asks, watching Kate's eyes glass over, head nodding vigorously.

"I know you feel guilty, for what you made him go through, how much pain you've put him through. But Kate, if you really want to help him, possibly want to try to have a real relationship with him, Kate sweetie, you have to _stop_ guilting yourself about it. You said it yourself, that lie kept him protected and safe, so there's nothing you should be feeling guilty about, even if everybody else said differently. That lie possibly saved his life. So when he comes around, and trust me sweetie, there's no way in hell he _won't_ knock at your door some time in the next few days, simply _be there_ for him. Do what is necessary for him to trust you again, trust the world again, help him in any way you can," Lanie's voice has taken on a soothing quality, soft and warm and caring, and it feels like a balm over Kate's jagged heart. "Just don't let that trauma drag you both down the rabbit hole. One of you needs to be the strong one, and because Castle is really in no position to be that one right now, it's gotta be your job to keep the two of you above water." Lanie falls silent after that, bringing a hand to stroke Kate's cheek. The gesture feels so good it causes Kate's eyes to close. "You two will help each other, okay?" adds Lanie, bringing her friend close into a hug. They stay like that for a couple of moments, Kate simply enjoying the warm embrace from another caring person. She was never a hugger, but she seriously contemplates becoming one now, if it only means she'll get to feel this good again.

"Thank you, Lanie," whispers Kate into Lanie's hair. "I really needed the girl talk," she says with a tiny hint of amusement in her voice. Lanie withdraws and eyes her, long and hard, then breaks into a grin of her own. "Any time girl. Now, in the meantime, we _so_ need to do something about that wardrobe of yours." Kate huffs a laugh at that, nods her head in agreement.

They make plans, arrange a shopping trip next Saturday when Lanie won't be on call. It feels good. It feels like being alive again, feels like having friends, a _life_, again.

As they part at the door, Lanie turns on her spot, regarding Kate with something akin of mischief in her eye.

"One more thing, Kate. If I were you, I wouldn't worry about Javi too much. A lot has changed in the past couple of months on my end too. A lot indeed," she says with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, going for mysterious but laughing out loud when spotting Kate's eyes go huge and then grow amused by her confession. "As I result of these momentous changes, I am now in the possession of some very, _very_ good persuasion techniques I can use against Javier Esposito." She winks at Kate. "So no need to worry about him, because I'll make damn sure he comes around, even if it's the last thing I'll ever do," she says with a confident grin and Kate returns it with a one of her own.

She shuts the door behind Lanie's sauntering form, leaning her back against its solid wood. She is surprised to find a grin still plastered over her face. Maybe not all is lost after all.

TBC

_And yes, I know, you all enjoy this and all, but you want to finally see Castle and Beckett talk again, am I right? OKay, okay now, so how about next chapter? ;)_


	15. Chapter 14 Castle and Beckett

_I want to tell you all how much I appreciate all your reviews. I haven't been replying to them since I am still on vacation and have very little time only, but I am keeping and flailing over each and single one of them. :)_

**CASTLE AND BECKETT **

It takes nearly a week until he finally finds the courage to face her again. He comes unannounced, appearing at Jim Beckett's door one chilly Wednesday afternoon, suddenly unsure whether he should have called first. Maybe they aren't even home.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Castle brings his hand up and knocks on the front door somewhat hesitantly, the gesture lacking his usual flair and resolve.

He waits and waits, but nothing happens. It appears that indeed, nobody is home. He's surprised to find himself disappointed. He turns on his spot, looking around. He's never been here, only had the address from Jim from a couple of months ago. It's not an unsafe, but a little run-down neighborhood. Probably used to be flourishing suburbs a couple of decades ago**,** but was later apparently left behind by the younger generation to the older residents who didn't have the strength to keep the place up to date. It's quiet here though, and Castle can understand why Jim would pick to live here.

Snow started falling to the ground again sometime last evening, and whereas it poses just a nuance that gets kicked to the curb in a dirty wet heap as quickly as possible in Manhattan, here it covers the ground in a nice, soft white layer. The light is already disappearing quickly, it's something after four in the afternoon and Castle knows that darkness will fall soon.

He doesn't move, stands there, still looking around, contemplative. So this is where Kate lives now.

A tiny rattle of a key in a lock from behind makes him jump and turn just in time to see the door creek open an inch, then a little wider. The sleepy, disheveled head of Jim Beckett appears soon after, his eyes puffy from what appears to be sleep.

"I _thought_ I heard a knock," says Jim victoriously, shooting a warming smile at Rick and his stomach, for whatever reason, flips over. The door opens wider in an inviting gesture and with hands still hidden deeply in his coat's pockets, Castle finally enters.

He stands in a dark corridor for a short moment until a lamp flickers to life over them, bathing the place in warm, welcoming yellow light. Castle looks around him curiously, cannot help himself, carefully taking everything in, all at once, until Jim's extended hand nudges his arm and he realizes he's been rudely staring and gawking around the man's place for quite a while. He clears his throat, shakes Jim's hand while feeling a little embarrassed, but Jim merely smiles, inviting him further into the house.

The corridor is narrow and long, stairs to the upper floor on one side, a couple doors on the other. Jim leads him down the corridor and they pass a kitchen, a bathroom and a closet probably, reaching the living room that's at the very far end. Castle cannot help but compare the house to his loft, then to Kate's former apartment. It appears they both prefer a complete opposite type of living, wide and open spaces with interconnected rooms and less more _freedom_.

The living room is nice though. And cozy. It's crammed with lots of stuff, but not in an untidy kind of way, with lots of comfortable furniture and small lamps that give soft, warm light. A TV stands in the far corner, along a narrow wooden coffee table in the middle of the room. There's a couch and three armchairs, each of a different design. And a small case filled with books looking as if they came from another era. There's nothing new, they're all probably classics. Castle's fingers itch to run his fingers through their spines, intrigued what lurks in the depths of Jim Beckett's library. He's of the opinion that what people have in their libraries says more about them that they could probably ever realize and give credit to. Yet he withholds himself; that's not why he's here. Maybe one day though…

Jim sits down into one of the armchairs, mutes the television, a rerun of an NHL game, then points to another armchair directly from his.

"Please Rick, sit."

Castle shrugs off his coat and sits as he is told, feeling only slightly awkward. "I was wondering if I could see Kate," he suddenly blurts out, shutting his eyes in embarrassment at the eagerness in his voice, cursing his quick mouth for the umpteenth time.

Jim doesn't seem to mind his obviously rude demeanor one bit. He only nods slowly, contemplatively. "Of course," he says. "She is not home at the moment, though."

"Oh," Castle replies, lost for any other answer. Something in Jim's squirming posture unsettles him. "I hope everything's alright," he adds, uneasiness filling his insides.

"Oh, yes," answer Jim, but he won't meet his eyes.

"Where is she?" asks Castle, not even concerned if he sounds edgy or rude. He just wants his answer. Because she is alright, right? She's fine, he tells himself. Jim must catch on his nervousness, for he hastens with an answer.

"Oh no, no worries Rick, Katie's alright. She just went to see…an old friend," he says after a short pause and something in Castle's chest flares to life. An old friend?

"Oh," he grunts dumbly again, the tone of his voice and piercing look more of a challenge than a polite, slightly disinterested reply he wishes he was able to give. Jim sags a little in his chair, averts his eyes.

"She went to see her therapist," he says with a defeated posture and Castle can distinguish a slight trace of regret and deep-seeded sadness in the man's words. "See, yesterday was the anniversary of Johanna's death," he adds quietly, his eyes glistering in the dark. And just like that, that fierce fire Castle now recognizes as stupid, unfounded jealously is put out in a flash. And he feels ashamed.

"I'm so sorry Jim," he says, his words never feeling more inadequate. Jim just shrugs, gives Rick a tired, sad smile. 'What can you do?' it says. Castle wishes there _was_ something he could do.

"I'm glad she went," says Jim, "I think it will help her clear her head." Again, he appears to shrug the matter off nonchalantly, but Castle recognizes the resignation of somebody who tried and failed to help a loved one. So he just nods his head back at Jim, despite the fact that it makes him feel like a complete idiot. He's sitting in front of this man, who's offered him so much comfort and caring words over the past couple of months, now completely unable to offer any kind of verbal or other comfort in return. And it makes him feel even worse. After all, _he_'s supposed to be the one with the words. He nearly scoffs at that thought. Some writer he is.

"She should be home any time now though, probably just took her time to return from the city. The lines aren't always too reliable in this cold."

Castle wants to ask about her car, her bike, and why she's using public transportation, something he's never seen her do before, but he bites his tongue. "Can I offer you something to drink while we wait? Tea, coffee, water?" asks Jim and Castle finds he's indeed rather thirsty.

"Some tea would be nice," he says, surprising himself with his choice of drink.

"Be right up. Make yourself comfortable," says Jim, leaving the room in a few brisk strides.

He sits there, a bit awkward, the coat still resting in his lap, lost as to what to do with himself. His eyes once again stray to the small bookcase in the far corner of the room, calling his name like a siren, pulling him in with a nearly magnetic force. Later, he will blame the writer in him, that boyish curiosity that still gets him into trouble at times. Right now however, he just jumps up from his seat, crossing the room quickly until he's standing right in front on the few shelves. There are not more than fifty books here, a rather small collection. All in really old bindings though. He runs his fingers over their spines, can't help but notice at once that they've all been dusted off only recently, probably moved and shifted in their places too.

_Kate._ Something in his heart seems to melt at the thought, at even such a small gesture.

There are classics mostly, lots of Russian, Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy. Some French too, Moliere, Maupassant, Balzac. Some of the books seem to be missing, being taken out of their respectable places, a gaping hole left in their wake. He knows who took them without a doubt and his heart surges with tenderness. Some things will never change. It's a good feeling. His mind conjures up an image in which Kate, wearing nothing but a long button down – one of his – disheveled hair and rosy cheeks, barefootly tiptoes across his study, perusing his own book collection, her long delicate fingers caressing the spines of his own books, carefully looking from one to the other, picking what she might like.

A surge of longing flares in his chest at that, the chilling icy knot in the pit of his stomach that was his constant companion over the past few months, starting to melt at that picture. He suddenly realizes how much he wants to have it, how he _can_ have it, if he'll find it in his heart to forgive her, to trust her again, to move on. He sighs, wishing it was only that simple.

He hears shuffling behind his back and he quickly turns to watch Jim return with a tray holding two cups of steaming tea and a matching sugar bowl resting in the middle. He uses old fashioned china, Castle notices, and he feels warmth spread through his chest at the sight, for more than one reason.

He returns to his place, sits down into his designated armchair, waits for Jim to serve him his tea, then adds two spoons of sugar himself. He seems to enjoy sugar, _lots_ of sugar, again. He stirs the liquid, which emits a calming, herbal smell.

"Kate's favorite, chamomile and hibiscus," says Jim, as if reading Rick's thoughts and Castle feels his cheeks flush.

They sit there for quite a while, sipping their coffee and talking about the game currently running in the background on Jim's TV. They both know it's nothing like the comfortable conversations they used to share in the previous months, but they are both trying, and it feels good. It's nearly half past five when they hear the front door finally open and shut with a low thud. Castle's cup rattles in its china saucer as he hastily plops it back down, his nerves suddenly frayed. She's home, Kate's here.

"Katie?" her father shouts into the dim corridor; she didn't switch on the light.

"Not now, dad," she calls back softly and there's a strange strain and tired quality to her voice, like she is very close to crying. They can hear her scuffle around the place, getting off her shoes and coat before they can hear the creak of the stairs. Panic surges through Castle. It feels strangely, irrationally, like she's leaving again, running away.

"There is somebody here to see you," he father calls after her, his voice holding that hopeful quality Castle came to admire, and the creaking of the stairs stops immediately. There is a pause, silence, then the stairs resume their annoying noises, quicker and louder now. Her feet hit the ground and he knows she's in the corridor, will appear in the doorway any time now. His heart picks up its tempo.

She must pause her quick strides in front of the room, because she comes inside with careful, slow steps, her eyes finding first her father, then finally turning to Castle. The world seems to stop for a moment as they gaze at each other.

"Castle," she finally says on a slightly desperate exhale, her voice more than a little breathless. It makes him feel oddly gratified.

"Hey," he utters back quietly. They stay like that for a moment, then, "I was wondering if we could talk," he offers as he finds his voice again, his tone an insecure suggestion. It seems to snap her out of her shock.

"Yeah, of course," she says, stumbling over her words in her haste, "C'mon," she says, gesturing for him to follow her, shooting a questioning look to her father, who only nods his head at her in return.

Castle jumps up from his seat, still holding his coat in his hands, looking at her expectantly and quickly following her when she turns to leave the room. It feels so familiar, the following, it brings an involuntary grin to his face, a giddy feeling of excitement. They walk back through the corridor silently and step up that awfully shrieking stairwell until they come to a door in front of which she stops all of a sudden. She looks back at him, her eyes huge, suddenly unsure. Vulnerable.

He realizes then, this must be her room, her kingdom, her new home. And she is unsure to share it with him. His heart sinks in his chest but even still, he says; "It's alright. You don't have to…we can go out, sit somewhere." The words are lame, but they at least manage to offer a way out for her. She contemplates him for a while, her once bright eyes dimmed, whether from the darkness of the corridor or something much deeper he's not sure.

"It's alright," she says on a whisper, and something tight and painful unfurls inside of him, allowing him to breathe more freely. She turns the doorknob and resolutely opens the door for them, their gaze never breaking.

They step into the room and he cannot help but look around curiously, fascinated. So this is Kate Beckett's world.

He's been in her apartment before, in both of them, in fact. He's seen her homes as well as working space back at the 12th, used to know her desk and chair by heart. But something about this room, this single room that comes to represent her whole life now, breathing Kate's name in thick, condensed waves, makes it nearly surreal.

He steps further into the room, Kate momentarily forgotten in favor of her own mini-world. It's simple, neat, tidy. Not overstuffed; the huge beautiful circular window at the far end of the room providing it with an airy quality. There is a bed, a desk and a chair. A door probably leading to a closet, another to an adjacent bathroom. He soaks it all up, this private world of Kate, something he was so scared he would never get a glimpse of ever again.

The room is nice indeed, and God it even smells like her, is thick with the scent he's come to associate with her over the years. And then it's the small details that make it so much like Kate that he notices. A nice warm duvet covering the bed with a couple of funky, patch-work pillows. A huge world map that looks like it has seen better days – oh there is a story there, he is sure of it – plastered over half of the wall behind it. A nice inconspicuous lamp near the window, shadowing an old armchair – ha, a reading nook – and an ancient wooden clock sitting on the very end on a book shelf, filled with…his heart stops.

Half of it is filled with his books.

Only then does he realize what this is, what she's really allowed him to see, what this room represents. He turns back to her, overwhelmed into speechlessness. She is standing there, quietly observing him, appearing peaceful if not for the twitchy, nervous quality in her hands as she keeps twining and twisting her fingers into the fabric of her shirt. Her eyes are glistering in the light of the room, two open pools, quiet and willing him to see everything she's been hiding for so long. And he doesn't know what to do with it, this sudden gift of her.

He isn't used to this Kate, to such openness, such trust. He turns back to the room instead, his eyes taking everything in, this time with a less frenzied zeal. He doesn't want to appear as a complete creep after all. He forces his eyes from the bookshelf despite his every nerve screaming in the urge to rush over there, decides he'll let her decide when or even _if_ she wants to show him that or not, a small gesture of his own, in return for allowing him into her most private space.

He hangs his coat onto the chair at the desk, rubs his hands absentmindedly before he turns back to her. "Nice room," is the only stupid thing that comes to his mind to say.

Surprisingly, she cracks a smile. The whole room seems to light up with that one little twitch of her lips and he is once again struck speechless. Oh how he's missed that smile.

She shrugs, the smile still playing over her lips, her eyes shying away at last. "Did the best I could." She shrugs again, self-conscious.

"I think it's perfect," he says with more than a little enthusiasm, once again forgetting to filter his brain, mentally kicking himself. But if her accompanying smile is anything to come by, it was the right thing to say.

"Thank you."

He allows his eyes to run over her, once again. After their fiasco of a reunion a week ago, Castle realized he barely took the time to properly look over her then. He misses it, the ability to do so, to observe her freely, sometimes on the receiving end of an answering scowl, sometimes a challenging smirk. He observes her now and she lets him, he can clearly see that, that she is _letting_ him, despite feeling slightly uncomfortable.

Her father was right. She must have lost at least ten pounds, her cheekbones protruding more than ever, more than when she came back working at the precinct after she's been shot. She looks small, short without her power heels. And pale, definitely too pale, her skin sinewy, with dark smudges under her eyes. Her once vibrant curly hair is hanging limply around her face, supplying her with an unhealthy, ghastly look. Still, she is his Kate, the woman he…he what? Loved? Buried? Mourned? Still loves? He doesn't know anymore.

"Castle, you are staring," she says reprimanding, though her voice is soft, unsure and self-conscious, her body squirming under his scrutiny. He realizes then how highly uncomfortable he must be making her.

"Sorry," he utters apologetically, ungluing his eyes from her face at last. His eyes fall to her attire instead, the odd assortment of what he knows as her seasonal clothes and it makes him wonder. The light sweater she is wearing is slightly damp and as his eyes fall to her feet, he notices them to be wet too.

"Your socks are soaked," he observes curiously, unable to hold that strange thought to himself. She shifts from foot to foot, then finally crosses the room, walks over to a chest of drawers near the window to pull out a new pair.

"I know," she huffs annoyed, and Castle notes she sounds more like the old Beckett that he has yet heard her. It has a surprisingly soothing effect on him. "I only have a pair of summer boots but since they are, obviously, meant for summer, they soak in a matter of minutes. I haven't had time to go buy myself proper winter shoes yet," she says with a slight frown, so matter-of-factly as if it were completely natural for him to hear these things. She must catch herself just then, because she turns to him then, gives him a sheepish look, her cheeks tingeing red.

"I haven't really packed for winter," she explains quietly, plopping down onto her bed and pulling off her drenched socks to change into the new pair, so naturally in front of him as if she were doing this every day. It steals his breath away.

"Why not?" he asks stupidly, the only thing to pop into his mind, his eyes still fixated on her dry-sock-clad feet.

Her face grows soft, more tender. "I never planned on being away for so long," she replies softly.

"I know," he quickly intercedes. He doesn't want her to feel bad over that, her father's explained already so much. "What I meant is why didn't you take more of your clothes with you? If they were going to destroy your apartment, you could have taken more, so you didn't need to restock so much later," he explains, feeling somewhat dumb.

"There is only so much you can pack into two suitcases in fifteen minutes, Castle," she says calmly but her words serve as a punch to the gut. He stares at her and she stares right back, lips pursed, understanding his train in thought, confirming it with her silence. He's the first to look away.

So this is how it's been for her. Fifteen minutes to wrap her whole life up in two suitcases. He has no idea what he would have taken given the same option. What _would_ he pack? Money? Papers? The contents of his safe? No use. Clothes, sure, some. And toiletries, the first things to naturally jump to your mind when packing for a trip. But he was going to stay longer, be more lonely. And the place would be gone once he came back, all the possessions along with it. What else would he take? His thoughts go immediately to Alexis. Pictures, albums. Yes, that's what he would take, pictures of him and his daughter, maybe some of his mother. He has a chest hidden in his office, holding all things dear considering Alexis ever since he was a child. Drawings from kindergarten, macaroni necklaces she made at school, a friendship bracelet. Yeah, he would definitely take that box with him.

His writers mind is really good at this. Considering he's already wasted nine minutes on this, what else would he take?

Some of his books? His manuscripts? Maybe.

How about something from the precinct? The boys? Kate? What could he take of Kate? He doesn't even have a picture, other than his phone, and that would probably get confiscated anyway. He feels himself panic. How could she have decided? How could she have decided when she was allowed to take only so little, in even less time? A surge of regret, envy and pride rises in him for the fact that she was able to do it.

A hand touches his forearm, a soft hand, breaking him from his reverie. He jumps back, jerks his arms away as if burned, watches the shadow of hurt steal over her face before it's gone in a second, her expression perfectly smooth again.

"Hey, you okay?" she asks, but doesn't attempt to touch him again. He doesn't know whether to be glad or sorry.

"Yeah, fine, I just," he stutters, "I cannot imagine what that must have been like. How you could have done it, to decide what to take," he says, his eyes finding hers. He feels sorry for her and he wants her to see it. It's no pity, no, it's definitely not pity. But he's really sorry she had to go through that. He knows how long she searched for a new, suitable place, how happy she was when she finally found her studio, with how much care and consideration she refurnished and redecorated it.

"I'm sorry about your place," he says and mentally kicks himself again. He should really pay more attention to what he's saying.

"Yeah, so am I," she says dryly, regret dripping from her words. "But it couldn't be helped," she says shrugging non-commitally, a finality to her words. "Besides, they were only things," she adds quietly and he recognizes the undertones to what she's saying.

_Only things. Not people. Not like you, like our friends. Like my father. They will be greatly missed, but not irreplaceable. Not like people._

The intensity of her look is too much and he needs to look away.

"Lanie promised me an excruciating shopping spree though," she says, some of that familiar twinkle back in her eye, "So I should have twice the amount of clothes I ever possessed in the matter of a few weeks," she says and he laughs. He actually _laughs_. It startles them both.

"So you are good? Lanie, the guys, I mean?" he asks after a beat, trying to return to a normal, less loaded conversation again. He feels her cringe a little, but again, she is quick to hide it.

She gives a small nod. "Lanie and I are getting there. Ryan is being, well Ryan. Sweet and forgiving. Both of them were really…gracious about all this, to tell the truth." She is earnest, Castle notes. She truly feels that having her friends forgiving her is more than she could ever ask for. "Espo however," she starts, one of her eyes involuntarily twitching, "didn't take it that well." He hears her voice lace with guilt when her eyes shy away from him. "You know, after what happened with Ike."

Right, Ike. Damn, he's forgotten about that. How in the name of God could he only forgotten about Ike? No wonder Esposito is so pissed. And no wonder she feels so bad.

He steals a glance at her, observing her, using the opportunity when she isn't reciprocating his intense gaze. She looks very small. Small and tired. Lost. He feels a surge of protectiveness he was not used to in regards to her, posses him.

"Tell me more about your time away," he blurts out, a gripping need to know more about how it was for her while in hiding clenching his heart. He needs to know more. So much more.

TBC

_So? Whatcha think? I kinda like it myself, but of course I'd like to hear your thoughts on this too. ;)_


	16. Chapter 15 Castle and Beckett

_Still on vacation, yet still reading and jumping up and down over each single review! You guys are so amazing, really._

_Also, thank you, **nik47,** for the amazing beta, and getting to know you as an amazing new friend._

**CASTLE AND BECKETT **

"_Tell me more about your time away," he blurts out, a gripping need to know more about how it was for her while in hiding clenching his heart. He needs to know more. So much more. _

She appears surprised at his words.

She motions for him to sit down, points to the bed next to her and then the chair, letting him decide; and only now does he realize he's still standing motionless in the middle of the room. Because she's sitting on the bed, he decides to take the chair, refusing to give in to the flash of disappointment stealing across her features.

"There's really not much to tell." She shrugs non-committally, self-deprecating again, and Castle really wishes that she'd stop doing that. She is so much more than that. "I was taken into a safe house. Still in the state, not the city. Must have been close, though, 'cause the drive was only a couple of hours." As she starts to list the details, Castle finds himself leaning closer, sliding to sit at the very edge of his chair, wishing now that he'd chosen the spot on the bed, not wanting to miss a single word.

"I was told a little about what would happen next, was allowed to call my father to let him know." Her voice cracks at this and she is unable to look at him, guilt written all over her face, but Castle realizes with quiet astonishment that he doesn't really mind anymore; the fact that her father was allowed to know and he wasn't. Jim was probably right. If he'd have known, he may have done something stupid, drawn unwanted attention. Attention that could have gotten her killed. His stomach twists in his gut painfully. It may really have been for the best, been the _safest_ way, even if it hurt.

"Go on," he encourages gently, and he's met with her surprised eyes, filling quickly with gratitude. But for what? His forgiveness? She had that long ago. It's the trust that's still an issue.

"I was given a room, wasn't allowed outside the house," she continues.

"For eight months?" He wheezes, his voice breathless. She shrugs again, pursing her lips. "Security reasons," she says lightly, but he can see it, that crushing weight under the pretended nonchalance, how it must have dragged her down, her forced confinement. He cannot imagine it, spending eight months in one house, in a single room. A prison. That's where she's been this whole time. And she's trying to play it down now, for him. A surge of tenderness shoots through his chest and he has to qualm the sudden urge to reach out to her, take her hand. She's looking down at the duvet now, her fingers picking at random threads, plucking them from the material.

"What did you do during all that time?" he asks, nudging her carefully with his words to continue.

"Worked the case, mainly," she says quietly. There is no victory or pride in her voice, only heavy tiredness.

"And the rest of the time?" He knows he's walking on thin ice, pressing and urging for intimate details she might not be willing to give. But he wants to know, God, he needs to know.

"Worked out," she says, but it sounds more like a question, like she's not sure about the truthfulness behind her own words. And she's still not looking at him. Her eyebrows knit together, that vein he's come to love, the one that appears whenever she's thinking about something way too hard, slicing her forehead. "There was a workout room in the basement. So I worked out. A lot. Made it easier to fall asleep at night." She utters that last bit nearly inaudibly and his breath hitches in his throat. He can hear it all, what she's not saying, what her father has been trying to explain to him: the depression, the despair, the solitude. She's been absolutely miserable, this whole time. Miserable _and_ lonely. His heart aches for her.

"You've lost a lot of weight," he offers quietly, meeting her surprised eyes at last.

Her face grows first warm, then tender. "So have you."

It's his turn to avert his eyes. This is not something he's proud of. It's a reminder of all those times he hit bottom, when bourbon seemed a better source of nourishment than pancakes shared with his daughter, when the sweet, sugary, milky frappuccinos he used to love were traded for simple bitter black or herbal tea.

The conversation stalls after that, and he's not sure how to restart it. His eyes ultimately stalk back to her bookshelf, the books carrying his own name mocking him even from across the room. He wonders.

"I gave you a whole new set when your first apartment blew up…" he starts, his tone contemplative.

"You did," she confirms calmly. There is something in her posture that belies the casualness of her tone however.

"These new?" he finally asks, pointing his head to the shelf behind him. He thinks he knows the answer, which is why his eyes grow so huge when he sees her shake her head. They're _not_ new.

He stands from the chair then, walking to the single bookshelf in a few quick strides, unable to help himself, and she doesn't stop him. She merely sits there, waiting him out patiently, quietly giving him permission to prod and poke in the most private corners of her life.

His hand tentatively reaches out, touches the spines of the books that carry his name. He recognizes all of their titles, could immediately arrange them in a timeline of his writing bibliography. There are his very first five, then his Nikki Heat series. He can't think too much about the meaning behind that, his knees already weak as he slowly takes her copy of _Hell Hath No Fury_ down from the shelf, his hands shaking slightly when he sees the worn jacket of the book. Yeah, there's no way it's new.

And still, he cannot help but open it to the first page, where he is met with his own handwriting. "_I stand by what I said: you __are__ a pretty dedicated fan, Beckett, because it's still true that only hardcore Castle groupies read this one_." A grin spreads over his face, huge and unbidden, his written words bringing back memories of their very first encounter. He'd been such a jackass back then.

He puts the book carefully back, takes out _Heat Wave_, andreads his dedication in that one as well before it hits him. Fifteen minutes and two suitcases. And she took his books. His heart skips a beat, fluttering excitedly in his chest.

His fingers lovingly caress the cover of the book in his hands, while his mind tries to digest, to comprehend, the meaning behind the gesture. Because it's huge. She could have taken anything – _anything_ – from her apartment: clothes, books, photos, CDs, DVDs, favorite decorative objects…anything she wanted to save, because her place was going to be destroyed. Yet out of all of it, she took _his_ books.

His hands shake, tears filling his eyes. He turns and looks at her, really _looks_ at her for the very first time since she came back. She is sitting there, quiet and gorgeous as ever, calmly regarding him. She knows he must have made the connection, how much his books meant to her in order for her to take them with her. Her own eyes swim with unshed tears.

"I couldn't leave them there to be destroyed, again. I'd already lost the first ones and I was about to lose this set, too, along with you, and I just couldn't…" Her voice is breaking, a tear sliding down her cheek. "You took such care writing those dedications, each and every one of them, and I love those books, Castle, I love-"

She stops mid-sentence, her eyes falling to the duvet once again and he is glad. He's just not ready to hear it again, those wonderful, special words. He nods, rather pathetically, unable to speak at the moment. He returns the book to its rightful place, caressing the spine one more time, ready to face her again, when something else catches his eye.

On top of the rest of the books lays another book turned with the pages facing the room, the spine hidden towards the wall. That's why he hadn't really noticed it yet. Curiosity gets the better of him and he takes it down, knowing now that he's got her permission to touch and look at whatever he wants in her own personal world.

He turns the book over in his hands, his breath catching in his lungs at the sight of the familiar blue jacket. He immediately knows which copy this is, Jim has already told him that much. Still, he runs his fingers over the front, reverently, remembers how unwilling he was to let this particular copy leave his hands. After a moment, he swings open the cover, the first few pages flipping automatically to reveal the dedication page.

His words come into focus, blurring momentarily as he remembers the short-lived joy which writing this dedication had given him. The feeling of how he would have given anything to have her back then, in any shape or form. And he has her, whole and living, soft and compliant, maybe a little quieter than he remembers her, more contemplative, maybe even a little broken, but willing and offering and giving more of herself to him than he could ever have dared to wish for.

He's so lost in his thoughts he doesn't hear her get up from the bed, misses the sight of her in his peripheral vision as she comes closer because he's still so lost in the memory, in the dedication, in what he wanted so badly then, what he can have now, if he only lets himself have it.

"I cannot believe you killed him," she whispers quietly at his ear, snapping him suddenly back to reality. She's standing behind him, her hands at his sides, steadying herself against him as she peeks over his shoulder, looking at the book along with him, eyes wistful. It takes him a moment to adjust to the overwhelming nearness of her, to actually hear and understand what she's talking about, the book, the characters, _them_.

"I couldn't kill _her_," he offers back softly, the meaning behind his statement so loaded that it causes her to sway slightly, gripping his sides tighter as she buries her face into his shoulder from behind. When he doesn't protest, Kate lets her hands sneak around his waist, bringing him into a full embrace, her hands connecting over his pumping heart.

"I am so sorry, Castle," she whispers and she sounds broken, and hurt, and all those things he feels as well. He grips the book with only one hand, the other coming to cover both of her smaller ones at his ribcage.

"I know you are," he replies softly, and he means it. It's as much a statement as an absolution.

A loud sob escapes her throat, wrenches her frame, still so thin and small against his back. Her arms however, are more than strong enough, squeezing and bringing him even closer in a vice-like grip. She's hanging on to him as she cries and Castle cannot stand to have his back to her a moment longer. He quickly lays the book on the table and turns in her embrace, barely able to do so thanks to her strong grip on him, cradling her to his body in a warm hug. Her head falls to his shoulder, just underneath his chin, her hair tickling his nose as he buries his face against the top of her head, inhaling her scent as she weeps quietly.

Her smell is slightly different now, she must be using a different kind of shampoo or lotion, he's not sure, but underneath the layers of artificial products, it's all Kate Beckett and his heart flutters in his chest with guarded joy, because it's really her, it's really Kate, alive and breathing, currently pressed against his body like her life depends on it. It's maybe the first moment he really, _really_ realizes and accepts that she is back.

The tight knot of ice in the pit of his stomach fragments, the steady heat he feels unfurling inside his chest melting the remaining pieces into nothingness. He's got her back.

They stand there for quite awhile as he lets her cry. He's never seen her cry like this, never seen her clutch at anything or anybody so desperately, not even when she shot Coonan. But something tells him she needs it, this release, more than she needs anything else, more than her next breath, so he lets her, stands there, offers his comfort despite the deep, ever-present ache which continues to press against his own chest. There's still a long way to go. But maybe someday, maybe soon, there will come a time when everything won't feel so hard, so bittersweet, when every joyful emotion isn't layered over by three different painful ones.

It takes some time for her to calm down and even then, she keeps hugging him as he runs his hands over her back repeatedly, his cheek still firmly pressed against the top of her head. He rocks them, back and forth, as if they were dancing, and it seems to soothe her.

She disentangles at last, though won't let go of him completely. Her eyes are red and puffy, but she looks more relaxed and less on edge, a little drowsy even.

His thoughts go back to what Jim told him, that yesterday was the anniversary of her mother's death. And today she met with her therapist and now him. It must have been a lot for her.

She's looking at him now, that open, shiny expression stealing across her features, so familiar and yet so strange. It's like all those months ago, during that single, wonderful night. Her hands creep slowly upwards and he holds his breath as they come to cradle his face, pulling him ever closer, bringing them together.

He sees it in her face, in her look, her actions; she is slowly preparing them both for a kiss. And with a crushing heart, he finds that he can't. God, he can't, at least not yet.

He seizes her hands in his, pulls them slowly down from his face, takes a step away from her. The devastation in her eyes is nearly too much, but he can't do otherwise. It's not meant as a punishment and it's not retribution either. If he could he would, he really would, but it's just too much. Too much and too soon, and he needs time. To heal. Because despite the fact that she is alive and her death's been all but a pretense, he still feels a very real pain, he's still broken, and he can't let himself get lost in her like that. It's not fair, it's not right. And they need to do this right, once and for all.

"I'm sorry," he whispers and knows immediately it was the wrong thing to say, because she stumbles back, jerks away from him as if stung. She considers it a rejection.

"No Kate, I didn't mean-" His hand shoots up as if to seize her only to fall back to his side limply again. "I just need time," he rasps. "Please give me time to adjust to all of this," he pleads, his eyes on her, willing her to understand.

She looks at him for a long moment then finally nods. She understands, even if only just to a certain degree, but she does. He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

They each take a couple of steps back, trying to find their footing again, both trying to act as normally as possible. He picks up _Frozen Heat_ again, starts leafing through the pages just so he has something to do. And that's when he notices the notes, hundreds of them. They are on every single page, some so thickly squeezed into the empty corners and borders of the page as to be barely readable. He leafs through some more pages with the same results.

He narrows his eyes, squints at her small, untidy handwriting. '_How many times do I have to tell you, Castle: having a suspect in holding doesn't work this way._' He lets out a bark of laughter at the note, then skims further up the page as his eye catches another one, seeming to belong to a particular sentence in the book that reads: "_Heat wished she'd told him how she felt about him years ago._" There, over the printed words and in her small handwriting are the words: _I wish I'd told you, too._ His laughter dies away at once and his chest swells, heart skipping a beat.

This is as close to getting into Kate Beckett's mind, into her_ heart_, as he could ever dream to get. He holds the book like a sacred object now, sending a careful look at her. She is standing a couple of feet away from him, quietly observing him as he reads through her confessions, completely at ease with that fact. Well, maybe not completely at ease, but still, okay enough. It's unbelievable, how much she seems to have changed.

"I was lonely," she offers as a means of explaining the notes, but he doesn't need an explanation. Not for this. His heart breaks for her a little at her confession, though. He looks back at the book, this one simple object suddenly becoming the most important thing in his universe.

"Can I…?" he starts, but then holds himself back. Even with this open, pliant Kate, it'd be too much to ask.

"Yes," comes her soft reply. "As long as you return it, you can borrow it." Once again, she's reading his thoughts, and he cannot draw a breath, the air sticking in his lungs.

This is all he's ever wished to have of her, have _with_ her, this level of openness and trust. And it thrills him just as much as it hurts him that it had to come to them like this, after both of them experienced so much trauma, separately, alone. For the millionth time, Castle wishes things could have been different for them. Simpler.

"Thank you," he says in return, cradling the book to his chest. He looks back at her, standing there, just a couple feet away from him, still lonely, a painfully palpable, gaping hole between the two of them. He catches it then, that spark of uncertainty in her eye, the fear that despite everything she is doing, despite everything she's offering, it won't be enough. And he feels like he needs to take some of that anguish away from her, like he owes her at least this much.

"I…I'd really like to see you again," he tells her somewhat clumsily. "Sometime soon," he adds hastily. "For lunch, or for coffee."

He is not disappointed at her answering reaction, a beautiful smile spreading across her face at his words. "I'd really like that," she replies and he can see she's barely able to contain her delight. It has a mutual effect on him. But he needs to be sure she understands, really understands.

"As friends," he tells her and some of that joy in her eyes falls away, but she keeps a hold of her smile, oh so tender. The message couldn't have been clearer; she's okay with being just friends. _Oh, Kate_. He feels the sudden need to clarify.

"For now," he blurts out, and the sparkle igniting in her eyes after his words reach her steals his breath away. That's the real Kate Beckett, right there.

"For now," she agrees, lowering her eyes and hiding them behind her long lashes, nodding her head seriously despite the happy smile growing on her face. She looks so lovely right now, so, so lovely, Castle thinks.

"I need time," he says, a sudden warning in his tone. It won't be tomorrow, or in a week either. He still hurts, is still damaged and broken. There is a long way ahead for him, for the both of them. But he's given her a 'maybe', and that seems to make all the difference right now as she nods her head enthusiastically in understanding.

And he suddenly wishes it could be _then_ already.

"It's late. I should go," he says after a beat and sees disappointment flash across her face before she has the time to school her expression.

"Of course," she says. They walk down the stairs together, her leading again, him wincing at each impossible creak of the stairs.

"Jesus, this is horrible! There's no way you could ever secretly sneak a guy into your room under your father's nose with these stairs, is there?" Castle says when they're halfway down, scowling at the offending stairs. He hears her laugh rather cheerfully at that.

"Why Castle, are you offering to try? I have to warn you, my dad has a gun."

"So do you and that never held me back," he replies cheekily, grinning at her answering scoff.

"I've heard he's really good at twisting ears too," she shoots back at him and he let's out a low chuckle.

"Touché."

There it is, that banter he so loved and misses terribly. It makes him halt his steps and stare at her in amazement. She throws him a knowing look over her shoulder, raises her eyebrows at him, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

"You coming, Castle?" she asks, and with those three, heart-stoppingly familiar words, his world begins to move again, slowly and carefully, until it finally feels right once more.

He gives a breathless huff then hurries down the stairs right after her. He calls his goodbyes to Jim, his voice cheery enough to let the man know not to make an appearance at the door, just call his goodbyes back at him through the house. Kate grins at that and he turns to her, returning that memorable, knowing smirk of hers. He missed her, oh how he missed her.

Her face grows tender. "I missed you, too," she says solemnly, and damn, did he just say that out loud?

The door is opened already, his coat securely buttoned up his chest, chilly air slowly creeping inside the house, but they just stand there, both clearly unwilling to part.

"Coffee Friday afternoon?" asks Castle, his voice hopeful. It's Wednesday and so it will only be two days. Two days is good, it shows eagerness but doesn't come off as too clingy. It's the right thing to say, if her radiant smile is anything to go by.

"Four p.m., our usual place?" she asks and he nods vigorously. He looks her up and down, taking in her slightly shivering frame, how she tries to pull her wooly shawl tighter around her shoulders to protect herself from the cold.

He closes the gap between them on instinct, grabs the sides of the shawl, pulling it closer and tighter around her as he kisses her cheek. "Try to buy some winter clothes and boots before then, will you?" he offers. "I don't want you to catch cold," he adds, half-joking, half-serious.

She huffs an amused breath, but her cheeks are rosy when he withdraws, whether from his kiss, his words or the chilly air outside. He'll probably never know.

"Night, Castle," she says softly, tenderness shining in her eyes.

"Until Friday, Kate," he replies, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth when he sees her eyes widen with surprise and recognition. He sends her a wink, turns around and leaves.

Despite the darkness of the night, Castle feels like his world's never looked more bright.

TBC

_I find that writing Castle and Beckett is extremely enjoyable. :) Hope you think so too. ;) _


	17. Chapter 16 Castle and Beckett

_**Nik**, you are an angel. Thank you so much, you made the story sounds so much more bubbly and less alcohol-induced. ;)_

_Also, still reading and being happy about ALL reviews and sometimes sad for not having the time to answer, but its either answering the reviews or writing the story and something tells me you ppl would rather have the story than my ramblings.;)_

**CASTLE AND BECKETT **

She doesn't have time to shop before Friday, or more precisely, she has the time but isn't in the mood to even attempt venturing out into the world. It's weird. She knows she should _want_ to spend nearly all of her time outside – she's spent almost eight months shut indoors, after all – but somehow, the thought of going out feels suddenly much less liberating and much more exposing. Dangerous even. While she'd felt threatened being locked away on purpose, nowadays she feels unsafe anywhere _but_ indoors. At least she knows it's not a natural thing to feel. Still, there is very little she can do to fight against the sense of uneasiness whenever she leaves her dad's house. She sighs, adding this to the long list of other issues she'll need to talk to Burke about. Like she doesn't have enough of them already.

She's supposed to meet Castle at four, and since she's going out anyway, she decides to use the extra hours beforehand to search the nearby shops for some suitable clothes. But her attention is lacking real interest. Maybe she's too nervous for her meeting with Castle, or maybe she's just that disinterested. Or maybe it's that inexplicable feeling that somebody might notice her, follow her, _discover_ her. In her mind, she is still the secret witness, a ghost.

Whatever the reason, Kate finds herself aimlessly walking from shop to shop, absentmindedly running her fingers along rows of clothes without any real interest in taking them down from their racks, let alone trying them on. Two hours into her shopping and not a single piece of attire bought yet, Kate finally capitulates, deciding to leave the issue of filling her closet to Lanie and their scheduled shopping date tomorrow, pacifying herself with the knowledge that Lanie would never forgive her if she bought the clothes herself anyway.

Still, her sneakers are wet again and her toes kind of burn with the chilly cold. And Kate knows with absolute certainly that if _she_ notices the nervous twitch of her feet, Castle will as well. Therefore, she makes up her mind and enters the first shoe shop she can find, not interested in the brand or color or design, simply refusing to leave until she manages to choose, try on and buy a single, decent pair of suitable waterproof boots.

It's forty minutes later when she walks out of the shop, her new high-heeled leather boots already on her feet, the wet sneakers hidden in the shoebox she's squeezing to her body with her elbow. She's surprised to find that they actually make her feel _good_. More comfortable and infallible, but also more powerful somehow, like her old self; less like a victim, however strange that might sound.

The shoe store is extremely close to their meeting point, hers and Castle's – she can see it from here, their favorite café, glimpse it across the street, way down on the corner. She's still got an hour to kill, but she's got nothing to do and as she stands there, on the packed New York City street during Friday afternoon rush-hour, Kate starts to feel too exposed, too out in the open, too stuffed and crammed in the thick mass of people passing her up and down the street, making it hard for her to breathe. She has a sudden need to flee, to hide, to simple walk away and escape somewhere empty and dark and quiet.

She crosses the street in a hurry and strides purposefully down the sidewalk, releasing a deep sigh of relief as she enters the coffee shop – _their_ coffee shop – glad to see it's only half-filled with customers. She looks around for a nice quiet nook, but all of her favorite seats are already taken, so she has to grab a booth close to the window, right in the middle of the shop, and she feels a bit hemmed in by the other patrons, her arms twitching nervously on the table in front of her. But at least she's inside and not out in the open.

_Out in the open?_ Kate blinks, the thought surprising her. God, she's even more screwed up than she thought.

She shakes off the thought, along with her wet jacket, stuffing it together with her purse and the shoebox between her and the window pane, creating a barrier. Against what, she doesn't really know. A waitress comes to her table to take her order but Kate doesn't order coffee. Not just yet. She'll wait for Castle on the coffee. Because it's their thing, a special thing. Still is, right? She hopes she's right.

She orders a muffin and some hot spiced cider to get a bit warmer. She's still nervous to see him again, still nervous to sit face to face with him, gaze into those huge sad, hurt blue eyes of his that once sparkled so brightly whenever he looked at her. She smiles distractedly at the waitress when she comes back with her order a couple minutes later, then takes a sip of the hot beverage, pulling a face. The place has excellent coffee, but to say the _cider _is terrible would be an understatement. She doesn't want to think about what they put in there, merely squeezes another mouthful past her lips with a grimace.

Warmth finally starts to spread throughout her chest and limbs, though, and it has a strangely calming effect on her. She continues to sip in small increments as she watches the people passing behind the glass, rushing to their destinations; businesspeople with phones pressed against their ears, hurrying mothers with their much-slower offspring tagging along behind them, teenagers and students listening to their iPods, hoodies pulled over their heads.

And amongst all of these people, Kate feels…displaced. Odd. Like she doesn't belong. What was once natural to her now feels strange. The hurrying masses of strangers outside the window look oppressive and dangerous to her, causing her to throw a mistrustful look in their direction, as well as one around the shop, every few seconds, secretly controlling her environment, assessing the level of potential danger. Finally, she glances at her father's watch. It's a quarter after three, still tons of time to kill. She wishes she'd taken a book with her. But at least she's warm again, glad now more than ever that she was stubborn enough to buy the boots.

Kate looks at the muffin, her stomach rolling at the sight. She's definitely not hungry. She pushes the offending piece of pastry away, as far as it'll go across the table, the mere thought of eating making her nauseous. Screwed up, that's what she is. She sighs. They all are; herself, her father, Castle.

She thinks of their last encounter, how she tried her best to open herself up to him, show him what's now left of her life, show him all of it. Only once he'd actually left with her copy of _Frozen Heat _did she realize what she'd done, what she'd given away. That book had been so much more than a diary for her over the past eight months. It has been a touchstone, a lifeline. It contained every single piece of her heart and mind from her time away, showing the best and the worst of her. She shouldn't have given it away, not so freely, not without any supervision or possibility to explain this comment or that to him. But it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Yeah, well, she should definitely restrain herself more, put at least some filters back in place, for both their sakes.

Half past three. Still thirty minutes to go. She risks another mouthful of her cider, her mind wandering over the people on the streets. She tries to imagine who they are, what they're doing in their lives, where they're going. It's a good game, a good time killer. She used to play it sometimes with Castle when they were on stakeout, waiting for a suspect to show his face, having hours of time to kill in a single place. He would never let her handle them alone, the stakeouts, made a point of always being her backup. She often laughed at him, mocking his civilian ineptitude, his inability to actually _do_ anything on the off-chance she needed real backup. Still, he'd merely ignored her, always kept showing up. He's considerate and reliable like that, Castle is, and Beckett can't believe there was a time when she used to think it annoying.

And then one time during an especially hot, dull afternoon, sitting in her car for hours, he told her how he had this game, where he thought out stories about people on the train, or in the station, or in a cafe. Always the writer, always creating tales in his mind. She, the detective, altered the game a little. They didn't come up with fabricated stories; instead, they would compete in trying to guess the truth about people, pointing out several details and deducing certain things about their lives, their lifestyles, their occupations, families.

She might have been better at observation, noticing the various details, but Castle had proven to be a pretty damn good competitor, too, his mind putting those details together in an extremely creative way. In the end, in wasn't really a competition as to who could guess the most, come up with the most secretive or interesting fact, but more of a team game, where they'd try to connect all the information into one single story, together. She provided the facts, he the story. Sometimes, the outcome was astounding. They were really good at this.

She looks at the people passing by the windows now, tries to assess them, notice details about them, details others would never see. She's always been good at that, but now she finds that she cannot connect the dots of those facts into a plausible, reliable story. She huffs in frustration after another failed attempt to 'profile' a young woman with a toddler cradled against her chest, using the overstuffed designer baby bag to shield the overdressed baby against the winter cold.

"She's probably just the nanny," comes a voice from next to her, his tone kind, understanding and way too familiar. She jumps a little, her head winding around. _Castle_. He's twenty minutes too early, a huge carton box not unlike hers securely tucked under his own elbow, a leather messenger bag hanging at his side, secured with a long strap that goes over his shoulder, disappearing behind his back. She's never seen him wear one before. Interesting. And even more immediately interesting, he's already holding two cups of coffee in his hands, the entire ensemble lending him a slightly over-burdened look.

Kate wonders how long she's been staring out the window, not to have noticed him enter and order at the counter. Some detective she is. _Used to be._ Her cheeks tint red as she takes the coffees from him, relieving him so he can deposit the huge box on the bench and pull the leather bag from his shoulder, shrugging off his slightly wet coat as well. He sits down across from her in the booth, giving her a small, slightly nervous smile.

"Hi," he says. She responds with a huge smile in return. His eyes fall to the abandoned muffin now sitting directly in front of him and his eyebrows lift at her, somewhat amused. "For me?" he asks mischievously and she can't help but give a small bark of laughter.

"No, but you're welcome to have it."

"Cool," he says, his eyes twinkling boyishly, and something inside of Kate's chest melts, tenderness entering her eyes. She has to hide a smirk a moment later, when she watches Castle stuff half the muffin inside of his mouth in one single bite. He must be hungry, stuffing the second half in right after the first, looking like a goose, never really chewing.

"Sorry," he mumbles, shaking off some crumbles from his hands and mouth. She must really be screwed, because she thinks it's kind of adorable. "Missed lunch," he offers by way of an explanation.

"Oh, we can go get some food then, if you'd prefer," she suggests, but he just shakes his head.

"Maybe later," he replies, another smile spreading over his face. "Coffee first," he says cheerily and only now does Beckett realize the change in him. He's trying, oh so much, to act as normal as possible, put them both at ease, and she loves him even more for that. But he also truly looks lighter, happier somehow, than the last two times she's seen him. He's not quite his usual self, no, but that all-consuming devastation is definitely gone from his eyes. A bit of tiredness remains, caution, too, but it's more than an acceptable price when she thinks about the alternative. Another kind of warmth spreads through her chest, this kind permanent and definitely having nothing to do with the spiced cider. It's like a balm to her aching soul to see him like this again, not only for her own sake, but for him, too. Before he can catch her staring at him like a psycho-analyzing love sick fool, though, she clears her throat, releases a small cough.

"So, why a nanny?" she asks, her eyebrows knitting together in thought. He gives her a puzzled look before his face clears in recognition. He rubs his hands together, gracing her with a charming smile, that special 'let's build crazy theories together' smile, and her heart skips a beat.

"The baby was wrapped in five layers of designer clothing worth a couple thousand dollars. The woman, however, had an older coat on her, thinning slightly at the sleeves, and run-down shoes."

Kate must say, she is impressed. "When did you have time to notice that? You weren't even here," she chides in mock indignation.

His look softens. "I watched you watch her." He clears his throat. "From across the counter as I was waiting for my order." His cheeks go slightly pink and he looks embarrassed for some reason, but she is beyond caring whether Richard Castle stalks her or not. Actually, she finds the realization somewhat satisfying.

"Speaking of shoes," he continues, picking up his cheery tone, "I see you bought a pair for yourself. Good choice, too, I might add."

It's her turn to feel self-conscious and a little embarrassed, though why exactly she doesn't know.

"I always liked you in heels, you know," he says and the heated look he gives her sends her heart off in summersaults. She doesn't know what changed in the past few days, but she certainly loves it. It gives her hope. Maybe they aren't a lost cause after all.

They keep staring at each other for quite some time, but before it becomes too much, Castle breaks the contact. He takes a sip of his coffee, reaching into his leather bag and pulling out the recognizable shape of _Frozen Heat_.

"I believe this is yours," he says, his tone softer as he pushes the book across the table. Her eyes linger on the jacket, fingers coming to caress the familiar blue cover; this book, her lifeline. She picks it up, cannot help but cradle it tightly to her chest.

"I've read it," he utters quietly, and Beckett knows he isn't referring to his own artistic words. That tone of his voice, God, that tone. She isn't able to raise her eyes to him, her head bowed as she observes the jacket of the book from above. "I've read it all, the very same evening you gave it to me," he adds. "And I read it a second time yesterday. I was so enthralled with it that the thought of returning it to you nearly made me go and make a copy for myself."

She raises her eyes then, surprised and…_touched_?

"Did you? Make a copy?" she asks half-jokingly despite her breathlessness.

A slightly embarrassed smile steals across his face but he shakes his head. "I didn't dare," he admits and her chest tightens in emotion.

"Well, you can borrow it whenever you want," she says, reaching across the table to pat his hand good-naturedly. Before her hand reaches his however, he purposefully retracts his own, his eyes shying away.

It's like a slap to her face, but she tries to compose herself, to not let it show how much his gesture hurt her. She squeezes her fingers into a fist, pulls them back towards herself, hiding her hand underneath the table. There is an uncomfortable silence in the booth, neither of them speaking, the air thick with so much left unsaid. She can see he's uncomfortable, a little lost as to what to do, and her chest unfurls with emotions she cannot even begin to name.

What she does know, however, is that she doesn't want him to feel this way, to feel guilty for the sometimes unnatural, jerky way he behaves in her proximity when he's obviously doing everything he can to give her another chance, tries his best to indeed act as normally as possible. She clears her throat again, gulping down her hurt and disappointment, putting on a cheerful mask.

"Anyway, what's with the box?" she asks, pointing her chin at the huge cardboard box on the bench next to Castle. The light returns to his eyes upon her words and she knows she's done the right thing. His face brightens and he takes the box from its resting place, positioning it on the table between the two of them.

"That's for you," he says, eyes twinkling excitedly. "A belated Christmas gift."

She's taken aback, observes him in quiet surprise. "Castle-" she starts, her voice gaining a gentle yet slightly unsure tone, but he will have none of it.

"Open it," he pushes, his eyes switching their focus between her and the box excitedly. A breathless laugh erupts in her chest as she finally puts down the book she'd still been cradling to her chest. "Okay," she agrees as she starts to look for the openings to the box.

"Sorry, I didn't have the time to properly gift-wrap it," Castle apologizes. "I was shocked to find out that shops don't keep Christmas paper until late January," he says, eliciting another small smile from Kate, but it doesn't completely reach her eyes.

She's nervous. Because he got her a Christmas gift. God, Castle got her a gift.

She has nothing for him in return. She feels inadequate, but that sparkle in his eye as he keeps observing her makes her go on, her slightly trembling fingers finally finding the crucial piece of packaging.

The flaps fall open and she lifts the lid, helplessly intrigued in spite of herself. She spots thick, vibrant red fabric, pulls it carefully from the box to properly see what it is.

It's a coat. Holy cow, he got her a coat, a beautiful, fashionable winter coat, one she might have been wearing herself if the contents of her closet hadn't been burned to ash. Her mouth falls open as she takes it in, but the coat isn't the only thing that tumbles from the box: there's a scarf to match, equally as beautiful.

She raises her eyes to his at last, speechless and completely overwhelmed, taken aback at the gesture. That familiar, mischievous, hopeful twinkle in his eyes nearly makes her vision blur, tears entering her eyes. "Castle, I honestly don't know what to say," she manages to rasp out.

"Do you like it?" he asks, a little too eager. Her face grows tender again as she cradles the coat to her chest. She cannot do more than nod at him, several times, struck speechless, her eyes continuing to accumulate moisture.

"It's beautiful. Thank you, Castle," she says, her voice breaking a little as she sees the relief flood his eyes. Had he actually thought she wouldn't like it?

His eyes come to rest on his hands, twitching and twisting on the table nervously. Something is bothering him, Kate can see, there's a story to this, and she grows uneasy. She is about to ask him but he beats her to it.

"I saw this coat while I was shopping for Christmas presents over a month ago." His voice is quiet, way too quiet. "It was just there, in the store window, the red bright against the white of the season. The moment I spotted it, I knew it'd be perfect for you. The perfect present for our first Christmas," he says and lifts his eyes, which are brimming with tears now. Her heart breaks for him, all over again.

_Oh, Castle._

He must see it in her eyes, the understanding, the devastation, regret and apology all at once. He shrugs his shoulders like it's no big deal, but at the same time, has to squeeze his eyes shut to force his unshed tears away. It seems to help to some degree and when he speaks again, he sounds more composed. "When you told me about your wardrobe and the need to buy new clothes, it popped back into my mind, that coat, how it literally called to me all those weeks ago," he explains. "So I returned to the shop, even though I was afraid it wouldn't be there anymore," he utters quietly.

"But it was," she supplies and he nods, giving her a watery smile.

"It was not gone," he says. "It was not gone," he repeats, shaking his head in support of his claim and her insides tremble at the weight of his words, at the hidden meaning there. "And I was so grateful Kate, so damn grateful it was still there."

She wants to reach out her hand to grasp his but she's afraid to spook him again, so she stays put, her nails digging into the palms of her hands painfully. She wants to hug him, soothe him, so badly. Instead, she stands from the booth, throwing the coat around her shoulders, putting it on. She takes out the scarf, too, wraps it carefully around her neck, giving Castle time to get his bearings again. When she's done and he looks more composed once again, she turns to him, striking a small pose that manages to elicit the tiniest of smiles from him.

"So? How do I look?" she asks playfully.

A brilliant smile steals across his face. "You're beautiful," he says and the want in his eyes steals her breath away. She freezes, still in her awkward pose, takes a moment to force herself down into the booth across from him again, careful and slow on her suddenly wobbly legs, with the coat and scarf still on. God, Castle got her a coat. And it fits her, scarily perfectly. She's not pulling it off anytime soon.

It takes some time but the conversation slowly picks up after that. They talk about anything and everything really, about Alexis and her new college life, about Martha's acting school, Jim's obsession with fishing. They talk a little about themselves, about the time spent apart, but merely skirt the topic, painstakingly avoiding the most painful parts. They do talk about _Frozen Heat_, though, about the plot he chose as well as her copy, the comments she wrote into the book.

At some point, they open the book together, read a few things aloud, discussing them. Kate doesn't know when exactly it happens, but they suddenly aren't sitting across from each other anymore, now side by side, growing ever closer as time proceeds and darkness grows behind the windows. They don't even notice the lights go on, lost in rereading the book and Kate's scribbles, mostly trying to direct their focus on the lighter revelations, her comments on his writing, the book, the plot, common memories. They share a laugh or two, Kate teasing him mercilessly on some of the weaker points in the story, admonishing him half-heartedly over the crudely-done ending.

It feels wonderful; it feels like them.

Before they know it, the clock is closing in on eight p.m., and it's time to go home. Neither looks too willing to leave as they finally settle the bill – Kate's treat, she insists. Snow is falling down in the darkness outside the windows again as she carefully puts away her book, hiding it in the depths of her purse before they leave the shop, unwilling to let the falling snow wet the precious pages. She never put the coat away, her lighter jacket now tucked under her arm along with the shoebox.

Castle offers to drive her home, but she refuses. It's a long drive out to her father's house from Manhattan and she needs some alone time before coming back to the quietness of her dad's place anyway. So Castle offers to walk her at least to the next train station, and she cannot – doesn't really want to – refuse him this little gesture. They walk side by side in silence, watching the snow fall unhurriedly to the ground, matching their strides to each other as if they'd learned to synchronize it.

And then she feels it, Castle's pinky hooking around her own. She catches her breath, doesn't dare to so as much as look at him, merely watching the sidewalk in front of her. His other fingers start to slowly tug on the rest of her hand until their fingers are laced together, palm to palm. The simple physical contact and the emotional meaning behind it nearly cause her heart to burst with happiness, as well as a sharp pang of grief.

She squeezes his hand, tightly, wills him to hear all she is not saying through the firm press of her fingers. It seems he does.

They come to their destination way too early for either of their liking and she turns towards him as they come to a halt. He releases her hand and she misses the contact immediately, but then he lifts his hands to gently grab at the lapels of her new coat, which she's already come to love so much, tugs at them to wrap the fabric even tighter around her.

They are so close that the white puffs of their breaths mingle together in the chilly air. She thinks he's about to kiss her, hopes beyond hope that he will, but when he closes the gap between them and she flutters her eyes shut, she feels his warm lips pressing against her cheek instead of her expectantly waiting mouth.

She slackens a little in disappointment, cannot help it, but straightens in her spot immediately once he withdraws, offering a gentle smile.

Patient. She needs to be patient. Already today, he's given her more than she dared to hope for a week ago.

"When will I see you again?" he whispers and some of that disappointment flutters from her chest at the eagerness in his voice. She shrugs nonchalantly, feeling almost giddy, like they are two strangers on their very first date instead of friends – partners – who have known each other for four years. Then again, maybe the two things aren't mutually exclusive.

"I've got time," she says, leaving it up to him. If it were up to her, she wouldn't let him go at all.

"Monday?" he asks, but it's more of a statement and Beckett finds herself nodding eagerly.

"Monday," she repeats.

"Same time and place?" he offers but she shakes her head.

"How about somewhere else?" she ventures, a little nervous. "How about The Old Haunt?"

She sees the flicker of uneasiness in his eyes, but before she can retract her words, it's gone and he's nodding. Still…

"We don't have to," she says gently, realizing he might not want to, that it might be too early. He shakes his head silently and his lack of words starts to unnerve her, but she struggles with herself, waiting him out.

"Old Haunt's fine," he says at last. "You want me to invite the guys?" he continues, catching directly onto her thoughts, and the offer is tearing her apart. She'd like that, very much, have their group, their little family, together again, meeting in The Old Haunt just like the old days, but at the same time, she doesn't want to share him, share their time together. It's way too precious still. He must see how torn she is because after a beat he offers, "We can meet for coffee another time, Kate. It's not like we won't be seeing each other again." He's trying to soothe her, but falls silent as the realization of what he's said hits them both at once.

Instead of insecurity or panic, Kate feels strangely reassured. She offers a small, tight smile, but the sparkle in her eyes is genuine. "Most definitely," she says, watching him for a while before she realizes that they are both procrastinating, dragging this out, avoiding the moment that they'll have to part ways.

"Goodnight, Castle," she says in a soft voice, grasping his hands, which are still resting against the lapels of her coat, giving them a light squeeze before disentangling them from the fabric. "See you on Monday," she adds gently before finally letting go, slowly backing towards the stairs leading down to the station.

"Have a nice shopping spree tomorrow," Castle calls after her when she finally turns around in order to descend the stairs. His statement makes her turn her head back at him, letting out a surprised laugh. "Yeah, thanks." She even rolls her eyes a little.

She leaves him then, disappears into the underground. Her ride home is long and tiresome and there's a lot she has to think about. Yet still, the smile never leaves her lips.

TBC

_So yes, we are getting there, slowly but painstakingly. Just give the guys their time, especially Castle. We don't want them to get together because they are broken, we wan't to see them get together because it's the *right thing* to do in the whole wide universe. ;) _


	18. Chapter 17 Castle, Beckett and friends

_Thank you, Nik, for making this story so cool. ;) _

**CASTLE, BECKETT AND THEIR FRIENDS**

She looks uncomfortable, nervous. Maybe the Old Haunt wasn't such a good idea, Castle thinks darkly. Many of the patrons are shooting her cagey looks, watching her warily, disbelief etched upon their faces. It doesn't help that they're sitting in _his_ bar on top of everything else, because she used to be a regular here, familiar and welcomed, recognized and even teased good-naturedly as 'the muse of the owner', at least before she died. Disappeared. Whatever. Which makes this a hundred times more difficult. Because now she's back, sitting in their usual booth along with her friends like nothing ever happened.

To say her presence is causing a bit of disruption would be the epitome of an understatement, though – thank God – nobody's dared to make their way over to their table and actually call her out on it. The bar is rather small, with cozy nooks, private crannies, and habitual clientele, who are probably counting on the fact that they'll finagle the full story on Kate Beckett's mysterious 'resurrection' from the staff by the end of the week. Castle had had the good sense to warn his employees about this evening's surprise guest, advised them on what to expect and how to field inquiries, cautioned them to keep their own reactions low-key, but damn, they're _still_ all staring at her. And he can't even blame them because half the time, he catches himself doing the exact same thing.

And it makes Kate uncomfortable. More than uncomfortable, dammit. All those looks are making her miserable, he can tell.

She sits in the far corner of their booth, in the very back, which is not her regular place. But she's obviously attempting to hide herself from prying eyes, her gaze wandering nervously here and there; over the other patrons, over the bar, over everything and nothing really. It makes him feel uneasy right along with her. Jenny's sitting next to her in the middle seat of the booth, with Ryan beside his wife on the outside edge. Esposito sits opposite Jenny, flanked by Lanie on his left and Castle on his right. The six of them are all wedged in rather tightly, and with this particular seating arrangement, Rick's as far from Kate as he could possibly be. He's not sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing, but regardless, they're all hyper-aware of the unusual seating arrangement, and the tension humming through the air is palpable, though no one actually comments on it.

Kate keeps throwing cautious glances over at Esposito, like she's expecting him to get up and leave at any moment now, and Castle is surprised to find that Javier really does look very close to bolting, his jaw tightly set, tense and visibly angry. He knows it's mostly because of what happened with Espo's former partner, Ike. After all, the man's been here, done this, and Kate's betrayal evidently cuts just as deep, if not deeper. Castle wants to blame him for being like this, but just can't really bring himself to do so.

They wait for their drink orders in uncharacteristic silence, although Lanie and Jenny do make a heroic attempt at some much-needed small talk while Ryan just keeps shooting concerned glances at his best friend. The atmosphere at the table is painful, nearly oppressive.

But then Castle notices Lanie's hand coming to rest on Javier's thigh, squeezing lightly before starting to run soothing circles over the jean-clad flesh. And to Rick's wild astonishment, Esposito's whole posture begins to relax after only a few short moments, his body easing, muscles slackening perceptibly.

So things between the Latino detective and the ME seem to have worked out after all. Castle wonders what else he's missed over the past few months of hiding in his grief-induced state.

He looks across the table at Kate, who's silently sending a grateful look towards Lanie, and for the millionth time, Castle wonders how it is that some women can communicate so effortlessly without the need to even talk. Then suddenly, Kate's eyes switch over to his unexpectedly and Castle's caught staring again. But instead of scolding him for it, as she usually would, she gives him that soft, open look, so intense that he has to avert his eyes. It still catches him off guard; he's just not used to that level of tenderness andsincerity from Kate, and he doesn't really know how to react to it, how to deal.

Their drinks finally arrive and Castle feels the urge to kick Charlie, the waiter, for staring relentlessly at Kate the whole time he's passing out their glasses, obviously awed and undeniably curious. He quickly dismisses him before the lad gets a chance to ask any uncomfortable questions, but the damage is already done and Kate's small figure shrinks even deeper into the corner.

"Honey, you okay?" asks Lanie concernedly. A similar train of thought must be running through her mind as well.

Beckett nods, making an obvious effort to straighten up in her seat again, her hands squeezing her glass of bourbon until her knuckles turn white. Lanie keeps giving her that look, still not satisfied, and oh no, now everybody at their table is giving her curious looks and Castle feels like slapping them all, one by one, ordering them to look at anybody but her, because can't they see how uncomfortable they're making her? But shit, he's doing just the same. Staring. Because she's here. Because she's alive.

Beckett squirms in her seat one final time before looking into her glass and clearing her throat, and there's suddenly something resolute in her posture. "I just…I have to get used to all of these looks. I know how strange it must be for all of _them_," she makes a gesture with her hand towards the room at large, still not raising her eyes from her glass, "not to mention for all of _you_," she adds, her eyes trained even more closely on the amber liquid in front of her. "It's just weird…being the center of attention. 'S all." She shrugs, her finger sliding up to circle the brim of the glass with her nail.

Lanie stretches her hand across the table, snagging Kate's and squeezing it supportively. "Well I, for one, am thrilled to have you back. And not only for a valid reason to go shopping again," she says and Kate shoots her a warm, thankful smile, her eyes finally meeting those of her friends.

She clears her throat again, hesitates before asking her next question. "And the rest of you?" Her eyes are glued to her glass again.

To everybody's surprise, Kate's probably most of all, it's Jenny who answers first, throwing her arms around her and squeezing her to her side. "Are you kidding? Ryan and I are _so_ happy you're okay!" she says, her cheery voice tinkling and sincere. Ryan nods enthusiastically at his wife's side, extending his arm over Jenny's back to pat Kate on her shoulder, the gesture somewhat awkward but still unbelievably sweet.

"Yeah, at least I won't have to shed a tear over every photo of you in our wedding album anymore," he jokes, unaware of how quickly Kate's small smile disappears from her face as Jenny pokes his side.

"Don't worry, Kate, he sheds tears over _all_ the pictures in there, especially those with his momma. And she's alive and well back in Brooklyn!" She jabs at Ryan and he lets out a _Hey! Not fair!_ only to have the rest of them laugh along softly while Jenny presses a soothing kiss to his lips.

The attention of the table centers on Castle then and he realizes too late how Kate's previously simple question has turned into a weird round of truth or dare. They all look at him expectantly and maybe a little breathlessly, because yes, he won't pretend otherwise, they all know what she meant to him and that he was definitely hit the hardest with her loss.

His eyes lock with Kate's, now full of hope and anticipation right alongside worry and undisguised fear, and Castle knows there's no way in hell he can stay angry with her any longer, no matter how much she's hurt him. Because he still loves her; God help him, he still loves her.

What they have, however, what they _shared_ right before she disappeared, is something too private to reveal at the moment, even with their closest friends. They still haven't even figured it out for themselves yet, what they are to each other, where they will go from here. So for now, Castle decides to give a suitably light answer which, nevertheless, should erase any lingering traces of doubt anyone might have regarding how he feels about Kate Beckett. He lets loose a small cough to buy himself a moment, willing his frayed nerves to settle down. Because this is important – to him, to their friends, but most especially, to Kate.

"All I can say is that it will sure be a pain in the ass to come up with a plausible, believable way to resurrect Jameson Rook." The table rings with surprised laughter, and it's obvious that they all understand the meaning beneath his words, even if they haven't quite grasped the depth of them. Castle doesn't really notice their reactions, however, because Kate's looking at him _that_ way again, with that open, tender, loving look he's dreamed of being on the receiving end of for so long, and why, why in the _hell_ couldn't this have happened before? Why is he granted these looks only once he's been forced to believe her dead for nearly eight months?

Something dark and painful twitches in his chest and he finds himself averting his eyes from hers, mentally withdrawing from the table somewhat. He knows he's probably hurting her with the gesture, especially right after speaking such profound words, but he can't help it, still can't quite separate the love from the pain and the confusion.

The laughter slowly dies away and the silence around the table brings him back to the present. Everybody is looking at Esposito now – he's the only one who hasn't spoken yet. Castle watches the detective sitting next to him, and uh-oh, that angry look is back in his eyes, his jaw tightly set. Castle switches his gaze to Kate, her eyes a little too bright in the dimly-lit bar, quietly observing the man who's like a brother to her, waiting him out. She's not begging or reasoning, not asking or demanding a thing, merely waiting to hear his verdict, and Castle has to say it's the most Beckett-like thing he's seen her do since she came back.

"I don't know, Beckett," says Espo finally, shrugging, his voice surprisingly cold and his tone making even Castle wince. Lanie's nails dig themselves into Esposito's thigh, but he continues, unfazed. "Of course I'm glad you're alive, what kind of prick would I be if I weren't? But I'm honestly not sure I can forgive you for lying to us. You were always one to break the rules when it suited your case, and you just went ahead and did it again this time, despite _knowing _what it would do to all of us, to your friends."

Castle risks a glance at Kate but looks away immediately, the quiet regret in her countenance too agonizing for him to witness in this moment. And Esposito isn't letting up, his voice surging now, forceful, accusing. "What it did to me. What it did to Lanie." Castle watches as the man gently disentangles Lanie's hand from his leg, wrapping his large palm around her smaller one and twining their fingers together instead, squeezing tightly. "What it did to Ryan," he continues, looking pointedly at Ryan, who squirms under his stare, although even Castle can hear the caring, brotherly tone in Javier's words.

"And you sure as hell have _no_ idea what your little Houdini stunt did to your boy Castle here." Esposito jerks his head in Castle's direction, his eyes still trained on Kate. "_Eight_ _months_, Beckett," he hisses at last, his voice full of spite. "For eight months we've been burdened with this grief and guilt over your death. Lanie turned into a shadow of her cheery, confident self right before my eyes, and you, Jesus, you just-"

"Javi…" Lanie tries to stop him, but he won't let her. Still, Castle can see his hold on her hand tighten.

"And Ryan?" he continues fiercely, plowing ahead. "Freshly married, feeling guilty over every good thing in his life, deciding to bite his tongue rather than tell us how happy he is, how much he loves his wife or how great his marriage is, because he felt like he wasn't supposed to be feeling those things, like it was some kind of twisted dishonoring of your memory, to be joyful about anything ever again."

Esposito pauses slightly then looks to his right, and Castle feels a surge of panic and dread rise in his chest, because God, he knows he's next, and he's sure Esposito's going to reveal something awful about him too, about how the loss of Kate had nearly killed him. But when he actually glances back at the detective and sees the disgust in his eyes, he's completely surprised to find that Javier's anger is directed at _him._

"And _you_?" he accuses, pointing a finger at Rick. "She doesn't have a _clue_ what she's done to you, but the rest of us do, so how the _hell_ can you forgive her just like that? Out of all the people her lie has hurt, Castle, how can _you_ sit there, joking about your book when we all know how the process of finishing it nearly _killed_ you? How you couldn't look us in the eye, shunned your family and friends for months, broke into pieces at the very mention of her name?!" He shakes his head then, stops talking, angry and tired and furious, seemingly incapable of forming more words. But he doesn't make any move to leave, merely turns his steely glare on Beckett instead. Expecting an answer.

To her undying credit, she holds his gaze, steady and unwavering. But Castle can still see it, that small vein in her forehead, the tiniest tremble to her bottom lip, the too bright glistening of her eyes. She's about to crumble, is holding onto her composure by nothing more than a thin, fraying thread. She's never been a woman of many words, has always left the flowing descriptions and vivid poetics to him, but he knows that she'd never _not_ respond to this. He knows she's going to answer him, just as he knows she's not ready, that speaking in this moment will surely be her undoing. She needs more time. And so in a surge of fierce protectiveness, it's Castle who speaks out into the oppressive silence of the table, defending his position as well.

"You're wrong if you think for one second that I haven't told her all of those things myself. Or if you think it's easy to sit here, like there isn't this…" he motions with a wave of his hand between himself and the rest of the table, "…_rift_, for lack of a better word, between us. We've all been hurt, and honestly, you're right: it'll probably never be exactly the same as it was. But I _choose_ to be here. We all _choose_ to be here. Because we all know she's _worth_ it."

He nods curtly at Espo. "Yes, I may have been hit the hardest, because I loved her, and it's futile to pretend otherwise." A breath hitches in his lungs, and he scrubs a hand over his face, covering his eyes, refusing to look at anybody around the table, especially Kate. "But I still managed to forgive her, because at the end of the day, it just _is_ that simple, the bare fact that my life is better _with_ her than without her. And I think that you know that too, Javier, because she hurt you so badly yet you're still _here_. You still care. You wouldn't be sitting there otherwise."

The table falls silent after that and Castle doesn't have a clue as to what kind of reaction his words have evoked, because his eyes are too intensely trained on his glass of ten-year-old whiskey. Some time goes by, he's not sure how much, and then suddenly he hears another voice filling the void. Kate's voice. His eyes snap up, locking onto her face instantly.

"I know how futile and completely inadequate saying '_I'm sorry'_ can be – and I am, I truly am sorry that I hurt you all so much – but you won't be hearing that from me anymore, any of you." Her eyes wander around the table. "I explained why I did what I did and I know it's not been easy for all of you, but I know I would do it again if faced with the same choice, because I still believe I did it for the right reasons." She looks directly at Espo now. "You are my friend, Javi, hell, you are _more_ than that. You've always had my back, for _years,_ and I could always count on you. And you _know_ you could have counted on me in return. So I'm asking you for this one thing: please, give me another chance. Because I won't let you down again, I won't. And in return, I promise not to do anything like this _ever_ again, to _any_ of you, okay? I _promise_."

Silence falls after her words. And then Castle hears a soft _damn_ from Ryan, and when he turns his head he sees, with no small amount of shock, that Esposito is swiping furiously at his eyes. There are no visible tears but his lids are swollen and red-rimmed, and it's obvious he's choked up. Some of the tension finally, _finally_ falls away when he shoots an angry scowl at Ryan. "I just got something in my eye, okay?"

Ryan merely leans back, bringing a hand over and across Jenny's shoulders, a smirk brightening up his youthful face. "Sure thing, bro. But don't worry; your secret's safe with me," he jabs good-naturedly, obviously enjoying Javier's answering glare. The glare doesn't last long, however, because Espo shifts his gaze back to Kate, their eyes locking, both silent, and Castle sees a maelstrom of emotions flit across the Latino's features. And then, finally, his expression softens slightly, and he gives Kate the tiniest nod, so quick Castle might have missed it. But it's enough. It's more than enough.

The ice seems to break after that, or at least drift away, the insurmountable glacier which had impeded their prior conversation now gone. Jenny and Lanie start the flow again, Ryan adding an odd comment here and there, and then even Esposito chimes in on some details about their latest case which he doesn't think Ryan is getting just right.

Over the rim of his glass, Castle watches Kate, because doesn't he always? Her eyes are bright and shiny as she listens to and watches their friends, a soft, grateful, smile playing across her lips. Contentment and happiness, that's what he sees. The mere sight of them upon her face make Castle's heart skip a beat. He chokes on his whiskey a little, but masks it with a tiny cough, and thank God, nobody seems to notice as they continue to chat animatedly, Esposito now in his element, retelling a particularly funny story from his cousin's bachelor party.

And yet, one person appears to have caught Castle's slip-up after all. And when their eyes meet over the table, even though they are as physically far away from each other as it is possible to be in this booth, Castle still feels closer to her than he has in a long while.

She smiles at him then, that radiant smile with a tinge of luminous joy behind her eyes, and mouths a silent _thank you_. He gives her a slight nod in return. Partners, right? And something in her look softens even more, because she understands, oh she does.

TBC

_AN: No authors notes today, okay? Class dismissed, but only once submitting one mandatory review. ;) _


	19. Chapter 18 Castle and Beckett

_Nik is the best but she already knows it, so lets keep her ego in check, shall we? ;)_

_Also, this chapter is the direct continuation of the last one. Enjoy!_

**CASTLE AND BECKETT**

_Over the rim of his glass, Castle watches Kate, because doesn't he always? Her eyes are bright and shiny as she listens to and watches their friends, a soft, grateful, smile playing across her lips. Contentment and happiness, that's what he sees. The mere sight of them upon her face make Castle's heart skip a beat. He chokes on his whiskey a little, but masks it with a tiny cough, and thank God, nobody seems to notice as they continue to chat animatedly, Esposito now in his element, retelling a particularly funny story from his cousin's bachelor party._

_And yet, one person appears to have caught Castle's slip-up after all. And when their eyes meet over the table, even though they are as physically far away from each other as it is possible to be in this booth, Castle still feels closer to her than he has in a long while._

_She smiles at him then, that radiant smile with a tinge of luminous joy behind her eyes, and mouths a silent thank you. He gives her a slight nod in return. Partners, right? And something in her look softens even more, because she understands, oh she does._

They stay another hour or two, talking and laughing, Castle keeping unusually quiet, for once content with observation. The main object of his interest isn't hard to pinpoint. She's about 5'7, with sparkly greenish eyes that still sport slightly baggy circles underneath, too much so for his liking, but her gorgeous brown hair frames her face in thick, silky waves, a stark contrast to when he first visited her a week ago. She wears a nice, soft, violet-colored sweater, which manages to appear both cozy and attractive, hugging her slim figure way too perfectly, and Castle has to marvel at Lanie's impeccable taste in clothing, because there's not a single doubt in his mind that this particular sweater, along with those tight-fitting jeans, were all selected by the sharp-eyed ME. Kate's wearing her new boots, too, the ones she bought the other day before they met for coffee, and she'd also entered the bar clad in her new coat, the one he gave her, a fact which pleases him to no end, despite an inner voice whispering maliciously in his ear that it might just be because it's the only one she possesses at the moment.

She's talking a little now, adding to the conversation now and then, and Castle feels the warmth inside his chest grow when he notices the eagerness with which she appears to engage everyone, especially Esposito. She's still a little bit timid, a little bit unsure of how to act with him, of how back-to-normal they are now, how forgiven she really is. But she's trying, figuring it out as she goes, growing bolder, and they all seem to want just that, drawing her into their little world of meaningless conversation as much as they can.

Her eyes often wander to Castle as well, her eyebrows rising now and then, challenging him to say something, too, to join in, mirth and quiet joy radiating off of her in waves, mesmerizing and alluring. He can only imagine how overwhelmingly good it must feel for her to have her friends back, have back the people who truly care about you, people who want to talk to you, how enjoyable it must be not to feel _alone_ after such a long time of forced solitude.

Lanie and Ryan try to pull him into their heated debate about whether Gates has grown softer or not over the past couple of months – like he could possibly know – but they quickly notice his reluctance to really join in on the chatter, simply content to be silent, left observing as the picture unfolds in front of him. He just wants to soak it all in.

Although, to be truthful, it's also because he's tired. And overwhelmingly so. He hasn't slept properly in days, maybe weeks. When Kate's mother's murder had made the news, he'd started having the damn dreams again, forcing him to turn back to his sleeping pills. He never stopped after that, but when Kate showed up, came suddenly back to life, all the dreams had become even more…vivid.

They feel alive now, the same way Kate is, his fear of losing her even greater, because it's become a very real possibility yet again. So yeah, even on the pills, he doesn't get much sleep these days, and he's slowly turning into a walking zombie. It makes him angry, his body betraying him like this, but there's nothing he can do, no help for it. Despite the fact that it's time to be happy again, shake off the manacles of grief and sorrow that have bound him for months, actually start living his life, fresh and new, he seems to be stuck. Especially during the nights. And the most infuriating part of all of this is that he's convinced he could kick these old, tiresome habits, break the vicious, sorrowful cycle once and for all, if only his treacherous body would surrender to this crushing, bone-weary need for sleep.

However, sitting here with his friends while sipping on his favorite whiskey and looking around the table, more often than not catching Kate's full smile and glowing eyes directed solely at him, is more than enough for the moment. It still amazes him how vibrant and _alive_ she is, how all the potential of _them_ is just lying there, right in front of him, if he could only bring himself to reach forward and pick it up. And with the prospect of life appearing so bright, even his troublesome sleeping habits can't dampen his joy – his wonder – at the reality of being able to see, smell, hear and even _touch_ Kate Beckett again, whenever he wants.

He's completely lost in his thoughts, the hum of warm conversation at the table continuing to wash over him gently, comforting in its familiarity. Eventually, he excuses himself with a quick, reassuring smile aimed at Kate, heading for the bathroom in the back. When he's done, he washes his hands and splashes some cool water over his face before he gazes at himself in the mirror. He looks…aged. And tired. Nothing like the playboy he once used to be, or the well-groomed metrosexual who the boys and Beckett used to tease mercilessly at the precinct. He doesn't see the writer, or the unfailing partner, the man he was actually proud of having become. All he sees in the mirror now is a man looking each and every single one of his forty-two years. His skin is stretched taut over hollowed-out cheeks, day-old stubble peppering his weathered jaw. A flash of grey hair appears here and there, and slack bags of darkened skin nestle beneath his eyes, haggard crow's feet etched deep in the corners.

An old man looks back at him from the mirror.

Castle sighs, wiping his face dry and crumpling the paper towel in his hands. This definitely has to stop, the utter disregard for his appearance. The man in that mirror is _not _Richard Castle. Suddenly, fiercely, Rick wants the old Castle back. The one with dimples in his freshly shaven cheeks and a sparkly glint in his eye as he tells an elaborate story, a mischievous smirk playing over his face. It's high time for that man to return. He'll start tomorrow.

He returns to the table just in time to hear Kate commenting on her need to find a new apartment for herself, preferably somewhere closer to Manhattan yet not that far from her dad either. The rest of their friends are laughing at her, pointing out gleefully that with her record, finding _any_ place will be a huge achievement, especially one with adequate insurance against fire damage. Surprisingly, it's Espo who offers actual help with the apartment hunt first.

"Castle here isn't the only one who knows a guy or two," he offers, making them all smirk, Castle included.

"And what about work?" asks Jenny good-naturedly, unaware of how the rest of the table's occupants seem to freeze at her question. Castle knows everyone's been purposefully skirting this issue all evening.

"I've actually been thinking about returning to the force," Kate answers rather nonchalantly, and her tone surprises them all. "If the captain will let me, of course," she adds, shrugging as she snatches a fry from the almost-empty bowl in the center of the table and bites into it. Huh. Fries. The waiter must have brought them by earlier. Castle hadn't even noticed, obviously a bit too engrossed by a certain ex-detective.

"You would want that?" asks Lanie uneasily, visibly taken aback, yet still audibly hopeful at Beckett's words.

"Actually, yeah," Kate says with a sigh, her eyes wandering over the rest of them, a hint of nervousness in her posture. "I miss it. Solving murders, I mean, however wrong that might sound," she adds with a little chuckle and Castle is amazed by the lightness of her tone.

There is absolutely _no_ baggage or weight in her statement, no need or fixation, simply the desire to return to something she once loved to do, something she's so, _so_ good at that Castle cannot help but wish it comes true for her. Nobody deserves it as much as she does. For a moment, he pictures them back at the precinct, fighting crime again, the writer and his muse, as partners. Would Gates let her come back? She would be a fool not to. Would _he_ be allowed to return as well? Would Gates have issues with the two of them being involved?

_Wow. Where had _that_ thought come from…?_

"Still," she continues, pulling him from his startled reverie, "if that doesn't work out, I'm sure I'll be able to find something else." He smiles at that, catching her eye and offering a slight nod, no doubt in his mind that she can accomplish anything – _anything_ – she sets her sights on.

The party starts dying down not long after. Lanie needs to get back to the morgue for the graveyard shift, Esposito following quickly at her heels to 'make sure she gets there safely'. Ryan and Jenny call it a night after that, too, and before they know it, they're alone.

"I should be going, too," says Kate quietly, finishing the last of her bourbon. Castle notices only now that she's been nursing the same glass the entire night. Interesting. Beckett is usually one to have a couple without so much as a single slip of the tongue, a quality she'd very quickly become famous for in his bar.

"Yeah," he agrees half-heartedly. He's tired alright, but he's also got her alone now, finally. For what exactly he doesn't know, he only knows that he doesn't want her to go just yet. Or at all. But _that_ thought is way too unsettling for his own liking, and he has no intention of sharing it.

Beckett glances at her father's watch, wincing slightly. Castle had noticed that she was still wearing it of course, and he also hadn't missed the fact that the chain which held her mother's ring was conspicuously absent from around her neck. Another interesting detail he will need to ask her about. Someday. Someday soon.

"If I want to make it back to my dad's at a reasonable time, I should get going," Kate says, startling him from his thoughts, already standing and pulling on her coat, _his_ coat…well, not technically his, but the coat he got her anyway, and he feels a sudden surge of panic.

"Don't worry about it – I'll give you a ride," he quickly blurts, trying to disguise his own unwillingness to say goodbye with an offer of nonchalant chivalry. He stands up, quickly pulling on his own coat and gesturing to his barman that their table is clearing for the night. She regards him for a moment, obviously contemplating whether or not to accept his offer, then gives a small, almost shy nod, accompanied by one of the cutest smiles he's ever seen on her.

His heart jumps in his chest at her warm acquiescence. At least they don't need to split up right away now, and he can be with her for the entirety of the long drive to her father's. Castle's never been happier that her dad's place is so far away. But then he sees uneasiness cloud her expression, catches a pointed look as her eyes wander to his half empty glass of scotch on the table. Of course, she isn't the only one who hasn't been drinking much tonight, but she probably doesn't realize that, so he merely shakes his head at her, smiling elatedly at the simple solution to this problem.

"No Kate, of course _I _won't be driving. Just wait to let me call the car service, alright?"

"Castle…" she starts to object, but he won't have any of it.

"C'mon, Kate. It's late, and you're tired, and I'm just…" He hesitates, a small sigh slipping loose despite his best efforts. _"I'm just not ready to say goodnight yet,"_ he silently adds in his mind.

He's fully expecting her to put up a fight, so he's genuinely surprised to see her features soften, free of all resistance as she graces him with another slight nod, her voice wholly at ease. "Okay." And wow, he kinda likes the 'finally' behind that simple word.

God, this woman is gonna be the death of him.

The ride begins in pleasant silence, neither of them talking much at first. But then he asks her about her decision to return to the force, and he's taken aback at the eager response he gets in return. She really seems to want it, that zeal for solving mysteries twinkling in her eyes again. And he's really glad for her, knows how much Kate Beckett needs that passion in her life.

He observes her contentedly as she keeps talking animatedly about catching murderers again, his eyes drifting slowly closed in response to the soft cadence of her voice. He loves listening to her speak; he's nearly forgotten how comforting it is.

It takes him some time to notice that except for the steady hum of the engine and the rhythmically churning sound of tires on asphalt, there's nothing but silence in the car. He opens his eyes and realizes that his body is now angled towards hers, his cheek resting against the headrest. She's in a similar position, her body mirroring his, head nestled against her own seat, observing him silently with those huge, warm eyes of hers as their car speeds along through the dark night.

"I'm sorry," he says drowsily, feeling more than a little awkward. Damn, he fell asleep on her. How very romantic.

She shakes her head, smiling softly back at him. "You're tired," she observes and he can hear the gentle reprimand behind her words.

"_You shouldn't have come with me. You need to sleep more. You need to take care of yourself._"

He just smiles back at her, shrugging non-commitally. He most definitely doesn't mind making the trip with her. He hasn't felt this comfortable – yes, even wedged in and folded up in the backseat of his car like this – in a long time. They gaze at each other wordlessly, both utterly relaxed, and before Castle knows it, his eyes are dropping closed again. And just before he falls back under, he feels the distinct sensation of a soft hand lightly stroking the side of his face. It nearly makes him purr before he fully succumbs to peaceful oblivion.

Something eventually pulls him back to consciousness, although he doesn't want to be woken. He's having the most exquisite dream and he really, _really_ doesn't want it to end. But then Kate's mouth is at his ear, not dream Kate, either – the _real_ one – calling his name softly, oh so softly, and he shivers, his eyes snapping open.

She smiles at him then, apologetic yet at the same time not so much. He can't actually tell, because right now he's having a hard time figuring out where he is and what he's supposed to be doing and why it's dark and why Kate is here and what, why, who?

"We're at my dad's," Kate says softly, offering an explanation to a question he didn't even have time to ask. She makes a move to open the car door, apparently wanting to slip out quietly, but before she can do so, his hand shoots up, firmly snagging hers by the wrist. "No, wait, I'll walk you to the door," he mumbles groggily.

"You really don't have to, Castle. You're tired. Just let the driver take you home. I'm sure nobody's gonna snatch me while I walk the ten steps to my doorstep," she jokes playfully, but she obviously realizes her mistake almost immediately, because she bites her lip, looking at him apologetically. He doesn't want to see it, doesn't want to see or hear her apologies, doesn't want to go that far into his own memories. Not when he's just had the most wonderful slumber ever.

"'S no problem," he responds quickly, already tripping his way out of the car.

He walks her to her dad's porch, then up the steps to the door as well, because he's not a guy to leave things half done, at least that's what he tells her when she gives him that funny smirk. What he doesn't tell her is that he doesn't want to let her go.

They look at each other and there is an expectant glint in her eye and oh, damn, it does look like it, doesn't it? A first date, a late-night kiss at the door, she must think that that's why he asked to accompany her home, and he can't even really say it wasn't, he just…he hasn't thought it all out this far. And now she's standing here, expectant and willing and God, so gorgeous, and he stands there like an ass, unable to move.

He finally shuffles closer to her, grabbing at the sides of her coat coarsely, clumsily, bringing their faces nearer before managing to press a quick, awkward kiss, worthy of a first grader, against her cheek.

He can feel her posture stiffen against him, can feel the slightest hint of disappointment run down her spine before she straightens again, smiling up at him as if this is all perfectly normal, like she didn't expect anything else, anything _more_, but damn she did, and it hurts her, no matter how much she tries to play it down, it's all there, in her eyes. He feels the bite of shame and regret, because he knows only too well how rejection stings. But he can't do otherwise. He really wishes he could.

She's withdrawn her head from his shoulder where it seems to naturally fit against him, yet won't step away from him. She's deliberately, in a _painfully_ obvious way, making the choice to be his, showing him that in the intimacy of their nearness, in her unwillingness to step away first and lose even the small amount of ground she's gained tonight. Yes, Kate Beckett, however unbelievable it may sound, is now chasing _him_, and the thought makes his chest unclench at last. Because he wants it, wants _them_, so much, he just doesn't know _how_ yet. Everything is still so screwed up. But she is here, patient, willing, and _not _running away at the first hurdle in her path.

It's not like he's trying to punish her with his actions, he's really not. He doesn't know why he shies away from her touch sometimes, why the thought of doing something as simple as kissing her rips at him so forcefully. Maybe he's still afraid to lose her. Because he's _still _losing her. Losing her every night as he closes his eyes.

God, he's so screwed up. And old. How can she even want him anymore, this damaged wreck he's become? It's not pity on her part, is it? No, he decides, it's not. Kate Beckett is not the type of woman to stick close to someone simply because she feels pity. Yet still, he remembers that tired, aged man who stared at him from the mirror a couple of hours ago. While she's still so vibrant, still so very young and alive.

"I am as damaged as you are," she whispers emotionally, catching him off guard, once again in sync with his thoughts. "Maybe even more so." She smiles sadly. "But God help me," she stares at his lips now, "I still want you."

She steps away from him then, her hands falling to her sides, as if unable to stay in his proximity without doing something he may not be ready for. And it makes him realize, as well as wonder at, how much they've truly both changed. Because the old Kate Beckett, as stubborn and unbending as she was, would never step down once she put her mind to something. Yet she is now, that's _exactly_ what she's doing. For him. For them. Even if it frustrates her, even if it hurts her, she cares for them so much that she's willing to step down and give them the space they need.

He kisses her then.

It's not heated, not sexy or passionate. It's just simple. But even this slight contact of caressing lips makes something uncoil and unfurl deep in his gut, rising to bloom in his chest.

He's caught her off-guard, that much he can tell, because she's frozen, won't stir an inch except to respond with the cautious movement of her own lips against his, carefully matching his intensity, the pace he is setting. And again, it's that thoughtfulness in her, that consideration of _his_ feelings, which encourages Castle to deepen the kiss, slowly tasting her lips with his tongue until her bottom lip can't help falling open and their breaths mingle in a time-freezing moment, mouths hesitating for the barest whisper of time before sliding fully together in a single, searing kiss.

It doesn't last long, however, because he slows their pace after a couple of moments, nibbling at her bottom lip before pressing a soft, lingering peck against the pink, swollen flesh, withdrawing at last. Her eyes are still closed as she draws her bottom lip between her teeth, her tongue working to lick at the final, remaining taste of him and he has to do everything in his power not to dive for her mouth again.

Her eyes open at last, sparking in the light of the single bulb over their heads, the two of them still standing rooted to the smooth-worn cedar of her father's porch. He sees the question in her eyes, the lingering wish, the hope, but he shakes his head.

"Another time," he promises softly, hoping beyond hope that she won't take it as another rejection, because it's not, God, it's not, and she finally nods, her eyes still glistening, cheeks rosy pink.

"Goodnight, Kate," he says, smiling so broadly it nearly hurts. He couldn't care less. "I'll see you soon." He squeezes her hands one more time before finally finding the will to return to the car, watching from the backseat as she fumbles clumsily with the keys to the house, taking twice as long to unlock the door as she normally would.

Once certain that she's securely inside, Castle gives the driver the go ahead, and the car finally unglues from the curb, making its way back to Manhattan. Castle rests his head against the backseat of the car, once again feeling the incredible tiredness wash over him, but happy still, oh so very happy. That hot, fuzzy feeling is still blazing inside his chest, licking at his heart and keeping him warm and secure, even as his eyes close again and he finally falls asleep.

TBC

_A/N: Did your hearts also beat as wildly when they finally kissed as mine did? I swear, I had no idea where the characters were heading until BAM, they were kissing and I was like: O-kay...'s good enough with me! How bout you, guys? ;) _


	20. Chapter 19 Beckett

_This chapter is totally for Nik47, because she makes this story that more awesome! LOVE YOU GIRL!_

**BECKETT**

She does it. She applies for her former job. Gates doesn't seem to be particularly happy about it, but Kate had anticipated that going in. And she's pretty sure it has more to do with the phone call the captain received from her superiors regarding Beckett's 'special circumstances' than it does with Beckett herself. She knows first-hand how much the older woman hates to be told what to do, so having the FBI _explain_ the situation must have left Kate looking really unfavorable in her boss's eyes.

And the resultant hoops which Gates institutes as preconditions to Beckett's return might be considered a bit harsh, yeah, but understandably so, and Kate accepts them without complaint, quietly determined to meet and exceed each and every one of them with flying colors. A favorable psych eval and a flawless score at the shooting range will only be the start. What follows will be a three-month probationary period, replete with continuous, mandatory therapy sessions (like she didn't have plenty of those already), and the understanding that for the first month of said probation, she'll be down to desk duty only. Oh, and were she to put "a single toe outside any existing line or regulation whatsoever", Gates would be only too happy to personally make sure she was out of the force for good, quicker than "quicker than a body drops." All in all, though, Kate's more than pleased with the final outcome. She has her job back, and that feels surprisingly satisfying.

In addition to her preliminary eval sessions, she still talks to Burke twice a week, working on her anxieties and mild signs of agoraphobia. Completely understandable, says Burke. Completely crippling, thinks Kate. First PTSD and now this? What's next? Hoplophobia? Yeah…a cop with an irrational fear of firearms. _That _would go over well…

As it is, they obviously have a lot to talk about, Kate's issues still reaching far beyond the dozens and dozens of pages Burke already has on her.

And then there's the lingering issue of her mother's killer's trial. Collins. Such an ordinary name. Kate still can't quite come to terms with it. _Nomen est omen_ they say, but if ever a name revealed _nothing, _it was now, with this man. Maybe that's exactly it, exactly why she's having so much trouble wrapping her head around it. Because he's as inconspicuous as a man could ever be. The great puppet-master was flying so low under the radar this whole time that deep down, Kate is sure there's no way she could ever have caught him on her own. It sickens her, all the time she's wasted on this, hates even more the fact that she probably wouldn't have done anything differently, even now.

"Do you hate him?" asks Dr. Burke during one of their sessions and the question takes her by surprise, although it really shouldn't.

She strokes the head of the wooden figure standing on the side table next to her armchair, shrugs. She honestly doesn't know. Does she hate the man? She hates what he's robbed her off. Her mother, for a long time her father, years and years of her life. Although maybe she's stolen those years from herself, all on her own. She hates what the man reduced her to. But him? The man himself? A person of flesh and bone, so average-looking, despite the viciousness and the icy cold blood which she knows runs in his veins?

She _had_ always hated him, the idea of him, the picture she so often painted in her mind during those long nights when she couldn't fall asleep, when the image of her mother's bloodless, crumpled body lying behind a dumpster like yesterday's trash inundated every part of her. All because of this monster who obliterated people's lives, leaving nothing but grief and devastation in his wake.

But now, now that she knows who he is, now that he has a face and a form and a name, the spell is broken. And he's just like any other murderer she used to catch on a daily basis, only with a few more notches in his belt. But still, just a man, looking nervous and disheveled and sleep-deprived in his orange prison jumpsuit.

And as Burke's question rings through the room, Kate's shocked to discover how indifferent she feels towards Collins. Not his fate, no, because she still wants to see him punished, wants to see justice served, for her mother and for all of his other victims as well. But, although she assumes she should still feel rage towards him, should feel anger, spite, and disgust, repugnance at the mere mention of his name and pure loathing at the actual sight of him, she doesn't. Instead, she feels nothing but emptiness. He's been caught but it changes very little. Where is her reward for all of those years she's given in the pursuit of this moment? This quest for vengeance? Where's the feeling of accomplishment and peace she'd promised herself repeatedly during all those long nights she spent gazing in futility at her crime-smeared shutters?

All of that will come with time, Burke says. It's still fresh. And not at all finished yet. Kate knows this only too well, has seen it dozens of times.

The trial will take months, maybe years. Collins has the means as well as the manpower to appeal over and over and over again. But at least he's in custody. And the FBI has assured her that there's no way they'll allow him to strike a deal with the DA. They're pleading life.

Kate really, really hopes he gets sent to Rikers. The thought surprises her. Maybe she isn't as indifferent to him as she originally thought.

But he's a white collar, so it's probably unlikely. And she'll never get her mom back, or Montgomery back, or any of the other people lost in this exhaustingly long battle. So no, she doesn't know how she feels about Collins, because there's too much and too little to build on. All she wants now is to see him and his buddies put away for good, to never hear from them again. She has absolutely no desire to once more play the role of the ghost visiting Scrooge, like she did with Lockwood, making regular visits to the prison. No, locking him up, losing the key and never looking back sounds more than good enough at this point.

If it were only as simple as that.

One thing she _does_ know for certain, however, is that she wants her life back, at least what's left of it. And so yes, her and Burke talk about Collins and the trial, the way it affects her now, how the press finally sniffed her out as the secret witness, nearly publishing her name before the DA pulled their strings to keep her out of the press. That was a real close call, the slip-up with the media. She really, really didn't need that now, _especially_ now, when she's just starting to regain her bearings.

And of course, they talk about Castle. A lot. Burke seems to have recognized the importance of this particular issue, how her life appears to have reduced itself to orbiting around the singular topic of him – her former partner, her friend. Her biggest regret.

She knows that Burke can sense it, has since the beginning – or new beginning – when she first stepped into his office after eight months of being 'dead'. Her frustrations had been plain for anyone to see, the room instantly humming with her anxiety and fear. Fear that what she'd had with Castle was beyond saving, fear that she'd lost him, that he didn't feel the same way about her anymore, that he no longer loved her.

So since that first meeting, Burke has always made a point of addressing it, her relationship with Rick, has made it a priority it in each and every session, even if only briefly. He usually tries to explain, to offer her an impartial roadmap of Castle's point of view, at least as much as he is able to do so from the secondhand information she provides him. Quite often, he ends up defending Castle and his actions, trying to clarify his feelings and behavior towards her, to explain the man's confusion. Like she doesn't understand that already, the wounds she's inflicted on him. Just that one, single look at him when he opened his door those few weeks ago explained far more than she had _ever_ bargained for.

And nothing her therapist says will _ever_ take away the heavy ache resting on her chest at that memory, or the sadness and regret she feels whenever she thinks about Richard Castle.

But Burke's reasoning _does _help Kate to truly understand one thing, however simple and obvious it might already seem to an impartial observer. The key to all of this – to the potential future with Castle that she wants so, _so_ desperately – is patience. She _needs_ to be patient with him, needs to wait him out and follow his lead, however slow that is, because that's what _he_ needs. And if that's what Castle needs, it's something she's more than willing to give.

She eventually passes all of her preliminary evaluations and returns to work. Just desk duty at first, but then, finally, after four boring, agonizing weeks, she's allowed back into the field.

Her first murder is as messy as they come, an elderly couple stabbed to death in their bed, and as she ducks under the yellow tape for the first time in nearly a year, she finds with a crushing heart that nothing's really changed, nothing at all. Because in her mind's eye, she can still see her mother's slaughtered, crumpled form at that long-ago crime scene. A wave of helplessness washes over Kate, because it wasn't supposed to be like this. It should be _over_. She doesn't know what she'd really expected. That once she finally learned her mother's murderer's name, she'd be free? Well, no, not completely free, she'd still be without a mom. But Kate had wished, had desperately hoped, that some things _would _change. Nothing profound, just…just the small things. The simple things, like the god-awful images evoked whenever she crossed the yellow tape. Yeah, she'd really hoped that that would stop…

But with a sickening feeling in her heart, and a lot of advice from an extremely patient Dr. Burke, Kate has to come to accept there are certain things about her that might never, or only very, very slowly, change, no matter how much she tries to alter them, or wishes it was otherwise. She'll always miss her mother, and she'll always be a mourner to a victim of a violent crime, no matter how much therapy she goes through. And she has to accept that about herself and move on.

And with time and no small amount of surprise, Kate finds that she's starting to believe that, that she might actually come to some sort of acceptance of it. What she's not so accepting of is that these days she has to cross under that yellow line alone. Without her partner.

They still talk, of course they do, and they still meet. And there's…_more_ to them, with each passing day. But he's far more damaged than she could have ever suspected in the beginning, and they have a long way to go. He won't join her at the precinct anymore, and although she could probably have accepted the fact that he doesn't want to shadow her again – especially when he's no longer writing Nikki Heat, or anything whatsoever for that matter, which is another thing that weights heavily on her conscience – the real reason for his absence is much more disturbing than the mere desire to avoid awkwardness in the bullpen.

He simply cannot walk into a crime scene any longer without imagining _her_ lying there, dead and cold and gone.

He admits this to her almost apologetically one afternoon, after she half-seriously, half-jokingly and not at all subtly asks him if he doesn't miss it, solving crimes together. His confession leaves her so sick to her stomach that she has a hard time holding down the sandwich she's just finished eating, has to excuse herself from the table and flee to the bathroom instead of actually staying there in the booth and offering him even a modicum of comfort.

The parallel, God, it's the parallel of what they both imagine when they cross the tape that unhinges her. How they both see the death of a loved one lurking behind the line. But whereas she used to draw strength and resolve to solve her mother's murder from those visions, Castle seems to just break apart still further under the onslaught.

She makes a call that evening, asking Lanie for details, because she knows it was Lanie who saw what was supposed to be her dead body all those months ago, and Kate needs to know now, God, she needs to know who else was there to witness the sick, twisted, staged spectacle. She needs to know what's playing through Castle's mind as he walks towards a yellow tape, what he actually saw. Was it just a cruel figment of his overactive imagination or had he actually _experienced_ it?

Thank God for small favors Kate thinks when Lanie tells her no, Castle was never allowed into the apartment, hadn't even appeared as if he wanted to enter, the sight of Kate's necklace, along with her mother's ring, more than proof enough. And for the first time, she's glad that she provided the ring as evidence. Though it had confirmed her death instantly, devastating everyone she cared about in a single, swift blow, at least it had spared Castle the horrible sight of a burned body he'd consider hers. A shudder runs down her spine at that thought, and she has to forbid herself from imagining a reversed scenario. She picks up her phone again that night, calling him, engaging him in a round of insignificant chatter, for her benefit as much as for his. And she never raises the issue of him coming back to the precinct again.

Yet she still misses him.

Between work and her appointments with Burke, and the time Castle's spending with Alexis, they seem to find very few opportunities to actually meet in person, although they both make a point of talking regularly with one another on the phone. And the whole group meets at the Old Haunt at least once a week, '_the old gang_' the boys call it, and that always feels really, really nice. But Kate craves more alone time with him, always wants more, can't help herself, even though she usually feels bad for not being as patient as he needs her to be, as he deserves.

She has the nights, though – at least she has the nights with him. And even if they're not nearly enough, they still mean so, so much. But it angers her to even think this way, claiming the nights as hers, as _theirs_, because the circumstances, God, the actual circumstances have almost nothing to do with romance or love or longing and nearly everything to do with bare survival.

She found out only a few weeks after that first group get-together at the Old Haunt. Castle had seemed happier every single time the two of them had met. He'd been lighter somehow, more cheerful, more like himself with each passing day. And before she'd returned to the force, they'd had all the time in the world, so they'd used it to meet in cafes or diners, sometimes just taking walks through the various routes in Central Park, or through town. He'd even taken her apartment hunting once or twice.

And they'd had fun, they _really_ had a lot of fun. They'd laughed, they'd teased, they'd slowly crept towards normal again. And when she'd started back at the precinct and their time had grown more scarce, he'd grown more bold, as if he wanted to make up for the hours apart by being twice as attentive when they actually managed to meet in person. He took her hand more often, had even kissed her on several occasions, though just simply so, always more chaste than that first time on her dad's porch. He was still holding back from her, appeared to be her friend, sometimes even more, but never overstepped with anything more than a simple kiss. They were…hard to describe what they really were. A weird, almost platonic couple would probably do, and though it sometimes upset and frustrated her, she was mostly just glad to have him back, in any form or capacity which he was willing to share with her. And she'd finally started to relax, finally stopped feeling so damn guilty all the time, even when the occasional shadow had happened to steal across his face.

Things had looked good, so good. And he would have looked good too, if only he hadn't appeared so tired all the time. She hadn't understood it. She'd known that it wasn't from working too much, had known he wasn't even writing at all. And before her return to the 12th, they'd shared a lot of meals together, each one secretly making sure that the other ate properly, so she'd known it wasn't from a lack of food, either. In fact, she'd actually gained some of her previous weight back, and so had Castle, the hollowness of him filling out, a healthy glow once again lighting his skin. And yet still, in spite of everything, all of the tiny, numerous steps forward, sheer exhaustion continued to haunt his demeanor.

She'd wanted to ask him about it, she had, but she'd felt so uncertain, worried that maybe, just maybe, she didn't have the right to do so. And it had been that fear which had silenced her on the matter, convincing her that she really wasn't in a position to judge the speed of his recovery, because neither of them had a precedent for this, and if he genuinely needed her help or advice, he'd ask for it, wouldn't he? She reminded herself again that almost every sign she'd had from him over the past few weeks had been positive, reassuring, had indicated that they were getting there, that they were okay. That_ he_ was okay.

Until one night she got the call that burst her fine, fragile, rosy bubble of what wonderful progress they'd seemed to be making. Because Castle was not okay. God, he was so _not _okay.

TBC

_A/N – This one was kind of a bridge chapter, to move us further in the story. Not really much happened, but this all needed to be said in order to continue with the story. Also, RL has unfortunately caught up with me and I might be forced to skip the Saturdays update, but don't worry, I am definitely not giving up on this story, merely trying to keep up and juggle RL and fandom.:) _


	21. Chapter 20 Castle and Beckett

_I made the Saturday update schedule, how awesome am I, huh? ;)_

_Dear readers. Half the praise for this chapter goes to **Nik47**, cause man did she completely rock this chapter in her beta and made it 200percent better than the original. _

_And the other half of praise goes to **YOU** all guys, for being so awesome! 1000 reviews…wow, I truly have no words but **THANK YOU.**_

**CASTLE AND BECKETT**

Her phone buzzes, rousing Kate from sleep. Blindly, she reaches towards the bedside table to grab the offending device, squinting at the green figures on her clock. Nearly three a.m. Who the hell could be calling her at this ungodly hour? She's still not back on active duty, bound in the tedious and most boring deskwork she can imagine, so even if a body dropped, she isn't on call to be notified.

"Beckett," she mumbles into the receiver when she finally manages to pick up, the terse greeting an automatic response thanks to the numerous late-night calls she's responded to throughout her years with the force.

The only answer she gets is heavy breathing at the other end of the line, then a choked sob. Confused, she withdraws the phone from her ear, squints at the caller ID.

_- CASTLE CALLING - _

Dread fills her stomach.

"Castle?" She asks, immediately alert, panic gripping her even tighter when all she gets in return is another broken sob. "Castle, what's wrong?"

A single painful "_Me_" rasps through the receiver and before she knows what she's doing, Kate's stumbling out of her bed and through her room, blindly grabbing pants and shirts and socks.

"Are you hurt?" she presses, the phone squeezed between her ear and shoulder as she pulls the first pair of jeans she can lay her hands on up and over her hips, trying to force as much professionalism into her voice as she can muster with her heart beating wildly in her chest.

A ragged "_No_" comes through the receiver, but it's not enough – not _nearly_ enough – because something is obviously terribly, _terribly_ wrong. There's nothing but silence again on the other end of the line and Kate can't remember a time in her life when she felt more panic than right now. What if something had happened to him? Or to Martha…or oh God, to Alexis. A shudder runs down Kate's spine. _Please, let it not be his family, please! _

"Can you…can you come over?" Castle breaths through the receiver, his voice a rasping, painful whisper, barely audible. "_Please_," he adds, the raw entreaty just one step removed from begging, and Kate nearly slides down the wall at the neediness in his tone.

"I'm already on my way, Castle, just hold on, okay? I'll be there as soon as I can," she says, trying for a reassuring, calm demeanor despite the fact that she's feeling anything but. The line goes dead after that and when she redials, he won't pick up.

She's out her bedroom door in a matter of seconds, hurrying down the horribly squeaky stairs, not even caring whether the sound wakes her father or not. She's beyond caring right now. Castle needs her, and damn, she's so far away – it'll take her at least forty minutes to reach his place, even at this time of night. And there's something wrong with him, very wrong. She could hear it in his voice, that desperate lilt, and her whole being shouts at her to hurry. She stops just before opening the back door, her motorcycle helmet already tucked under her elbow as she quickly scribbles a note to her father on the small board that's hanging by the door exactly for cases like this. If her father goes looking for her, this will be the very first place he'll check.

Once that's done, she throws on a warm leather jacket, slips into her boots, grabs the keys and steps hurriedly out of the house, locking the door behind her. She tries to call him again as she rushes across the lawn to the carport where her bike is parked, never more thankful for having an alternate mode of transportation, because forget the trains at this hour. But that thankful feeling fades quickly, because Castle's still not answering. She growls in frustration as she reaches the Harley, dropping her phone from her ear and tucking it into the pocket of her jacket before pulling on her helmet and swinging a leg over the saddle. The Softail fires up smoothly, and she's on the move in seconds.

It's chilly and slippery on the road, and she forces herself to be extra careful and attentive, the freezing cold hitting her face as she drives her way through the streets of New York directly to the heart of Manhattan. Despite her speed, the lateness of the night, and the relative emptiness of the normally teeming thoroughfares, it still takes her nearly thirty minutes to reach her destination, and Kate once again curses the far-flung location of her father's place.

But finally, finally she's there, the familiar façade of Castle's building jolting relief through every nerve in her body. She parks the bike in a corner street, barely taking the time to secure it against theft before she nearly runs the two blocks back, stopping abruptly once she reaches the entrance. Oh, damn. The doorman. What if there's a new one who won't recognize her? But no, there's sweet old Eduardo, who always used to greet her with a little bow and that knowing twinkle in his eye whenever he saw her coming visit.

That had, however, been nearly a year ago, and currently, the grey-haired doorman is peering through the glass at her like he's seeing a ghost, which, in all fairness, he kind of is. But Kate doesn't care, because Castle is in there, behind these doors, and she is stuck outside, with a stunned doorman who refuses to move. Without thinking, Beckett raises her hand, curls her fingers into a tight fist and bangs on the glass, not caring whether it appears rude or even violent in nature. She just needs to get in, dammit!

Surprisingly, it does the trick, shakes Eduardo from his trance, and to Kate's enormous relief, the man finally pushes the button that slides the entrance doors apart. She immediately squeezes her body through the gap and shoots a small, grateful smile at the doorman, ignoring his open-mouthed grimace of incomprehension as she makes a beeline for the elevators, gliding into the first one which opens and pushing the button for Castle's floor.

The ride has never seemed to take longer than it does tonight. The elevator finally – _finally_ – dings its arrival at the designated floor and she quickly stumbles out, eyes slamming shut briefly, suddenly terrified of what she might find upon exiting. A beloved person hurt? Or even worse, dead? Another life-shattering, devastating void beyond a yellow tape?

_God, please let Castle and his family be alright._

There's no plastic strip however, no evidence of anything amiss, the corridor completely still and undisturbed. She doesn't let it pacify her, though, merely doubles her pace. She stops once she's outside his door, raising her fist and knocking resolutely against the wood, the toe of her boot drumming into the carpet in a nervous, regular beat as she waits impatiently for it to open. After what feels like a lifetime it finally does, revealing a shabby-looking, bleary-eyed Richard Castle, squinting at her through the narrow crack. After a moment, the door swings wider, yawning to its fullest extent.

"Kate?" Despite his readiness to let her in, he looks utterly shocked to see her. But before she can make any sense of that, a pair of strong, familiar hands seizes her, pulling her into the apartment and enveloping her in a bone-crushing hug before the door even shuts behind her with a distinct click.

"Kate, God, Kate…" he gasps desperately, "I thought – how come – how did you…?" He appears to be having trouble forming a coherent thought and she can't help but notice the slightest slur to his speech. But, although frantic worry still courses through her veins – worry which has only grown at his confusing reaction to her presence – for now she decides to simply return the hug, encircling him with her arms and cradling his huge frame to hers, all sweat-drenched pajamas and tousled hair. He's trembling against her as he presses her body tightly against him, so tight in fact that she's finding it a bit difficult to breath.

"Thank God, you're okay," comes a final, broken sob and it's all she can do to hold them both upright as he sags in her arms, his bulky frame nearly too much for her to carry on her own. Somehow, she manages to navigate them in the direction of the couch, desperate for answers despite the dark, seemingly peaceful look of the loft.

"What's wrong, Castle? Just tell me what wrong, okay?" she urges gently as she finally manages to lower him down onto one of the leather armchairs. She crouches in front of him, placing herself in his line of sight as she takes one of his cold, slightly trembling hands into her own, running the other through his damp hair.

"God, you're drenched," she observes anxiously, taking in his sweaty, disheveled appearance and the confused, empty look in his eyes. "Why did you call me, Castle? What's going on? Is Alexis alright? Your mother?" He doesn't answer immediately, just keeps looking at her like she's a mirage, his expression bewildered and glassy-eyed, and Kate can feel her temper beginning to flare, her emotions too raw for this, slipping out of her control. But she struggles against them, struggles to wait him out, give him time to snap out it, whatever 'it' is.

"Wha-at?" he replies at last, his voice stilted as he keeps looking at her with that scary, vacant gaze, mouth slightly agape. "What's wrong with Alexis?" he asks slowly, almost stupidly.

"I don't know," she responds as evenly as possible, willing herself to remain calm. "You tell me." He blinks, doesn't answer. "Castle," she grinds out, her words as measured and deliberate as she can make them, "why did you call me?"

She watches as his eyebrows furrow slightly, and he seems to be mulling her question over, both puzzlement and uncertainty evident in his eyes. "Call…_you_?" he asks dumbly, looking at her like _she's_ the crazy one.

"Dammit Castle," she snaps harshly, voice rising. "Talk to me!" She suppresses the urge to slap him into awareness, or shake him roughly until he's back to normal, because there's obviously something serious going on here, and it's clear that unleashing her frustration won't help at all. Still though, she needs _something_ from him, something other than this drugged, befuddled, sleepwalking stupor she's getting now.

_Oh._

She looks at him sharply, running her eyes across his features yet again, more carefully this time, sizing him up with a practiced eye: his sloth-like movements, his flustered appearance, his hair and skin damp with sweat. And suddenly, she understands. Or at least she thinks she does.

She forces herself to take a deep breath and instantly changes her pace, adjusting to and matching his own. She brings her hands to his face, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs slowly, soothingly. He closes his eyes, leans into her touch, almost purrs with contentment at the comforting contact. Yeah, he's definitely not awake, not really. But he's not sleeping either. He's somewhere in the middle, and she's even more certain now, has seen this before.

"Castle," she murmurs, "do you remember calling me?" Her tone is gentle, soft and calming as she draws every syllable out, waiting patiently for an answer.

His eyes remain closed, but his forehead wrinkles and he appears lost in thought, despite the simplicity of the question. Damn. This is not good.

"No," he breaths out at last, shaking his head. "Did I? Call you?" His speech is still slurred, elaborate, as if each syllable is a colossal effort, but he seems to be more aware of her now, even if only just.

"Yes, you did," she says quietly, continuing to caress his skin, running rhythmic circles along face, chin and neck, massaging her fingers through his hair. His head falls forward, nearly bumps against her chest as a heavy, tired exhale leaves his lungs on a sigh.

"I miss you," he whispers, his tone suggesting that he's not actually aware he's speaking his thoughts out aloud.

"I'm here," she replies soothingly. "I'm right here, Castle."

"Yes you are." He nods sadly, his head bobbing up and down, eyes still closed. "But you won't be later."

"Later when?" she presses, heart suddenly pounding.

"When I sleep." She's momentarily confused, before he adds, "When you die."

The air hitches in her lungs and she stops breathing. "What?" she whispers.

"When I sleep, I mean. When I sleep and you aren't there," he goes on, babbling away carelessly as if his incoherent explanations make perfect sense. They probably do, at least to him. "Or you are there, but not for long. When I sleep, you die. Always a different way, a thousand ways. Writer's curse, you know." He chuckles mirthlessly. "Can't sleep like that – weeks and weeks. I'm tired…God, Kate, I'm just so damn tired," he whispers against her, nuzzling his head into her chest, letting out a contented sigh that belies his words. He seems to be slipping under into a doze before his head snaps up again, the blue of his eyes still glazed over. "Can't sleep like that, Beckett," he repeats and she doesn't know whether he means because the nightmares wake him up at night or because he suffers from insomnia, involuntary or self-induced.

He looks – and sounds – drunk, heavily drunk, all uncoordinated movements, slurred speech and uncensored words. He leans against her again, rocking dangerously in his seat, threatening to slump over and fall, either away from her or against her, and she knows he's hit his limit, knows she won't get any more actual answers from him at the moment. What she needs to do is get him to bed before he injures himself. Or her. Or both of them.

"Okay Castle, lets tuck you in, alright?" she suggests gently, grabbing him under his armpits, feeling him nod against her cleavage all the same. She bites her lip. Under different circumstances, this situation might have been extremely amusing. Or horribly embarrassing. Or maybe even hot. But it's none of those things at the moment, because Kate's fairly sure he isn't even aware of what's happening or what he's doing right now, probably won't remember a thing in the morning anyway.

"On three, okay?" She says and feels another nod against her chest, followed by a heavy sigh escaping his lips, sliding right underneath the many layers of her clothes. But she doesn't let the warm feeling of his breath distract her as she counts to three and then yanks at him – strongly – finally hauling him up into a standing position. They rock back and forth for a moment on the spot, but then she starts to shuffle them in the direction of his bedroom.

They move slowly, every step she manages with him in tow both cautious and careful. He's so heavy against her, mumbling something into her shoulder that she can't quite understand, and Kate tries not to panic at his mental state. Because this is _definitely_ not just sleep-walking, or disorientation due to exhaustion. If it were, although he might have been out of it when she arrived, he would have been fully awake by now, no matter how sleep-deprived he was. No, this is no normal fugue state, whatever that means anyway. Something else is wrong with him, of that she's certain.

Her suspicions are confirmed a couple minutes later as she helps him crawl clumsily back into bed, her gaze falling to his nightstand, everything suddenly making sense.

He's _drugged_.

A large, orange plastic bottle lays open, a couple of white pills spilled out next to a half-empty glass of water. Her heart clenches painfully, her stomach rising nauseatingly into her throat as her eyes dart to the large, white label on the pill container. _God, please let it be a prescription, please let it be _his _prescription…_

She releases a relieved sigh which borders on a sob when she sees his name printed in big block letters across the bottle, clear as day – they were his, they were meant for him. She drops her head into her hands for just a brief moment, fighting off the raw emotion threatening to overwhelm her, fingers running swiftly back through her hair. Okay. Okay. She stands still for a moment, willing her heart to resume a normal pace, then walks around the bed for a closer look at the container. Sleeping pills. They're sleeping pills.

She wants to believe that Castle taking sleeping pills is normal, a part of the healing process, dictated and approved by his doctors, and that this was just an isolated, bizarre incident. Maybe he simply woke in the middle of the night, slightly drugged and confused with his phone nearby, and that's why he'd called her. It didn't have to be sinister. It didn't have to mean anything. But she knows that's not true. Things are nearly never as simple as that, and his call…there was more to it than mere confusion.

And, moreover, he's in a _heavily_ sedated state, and there's just no way that a single prescribed sleeping pill could cause him to be this out of it. She sits down on the bed beside him, takes another moment to try composing herself, the thin, orange plastic nearly crushing to pieces under the force of her fisted hand as she fights back the tears filling her eyes. She takes a couple of deep breaths and concentrates on her heartbeat, attempting to anchor herself against the world as it shifts askew beneath her feet.

She needs to think – and think _hard_ – about her next move. Should she call for help?

Her eyes roam the room, across the wall, over the nightstand, around the bed. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. It truly seems he just followed a normal routine: took his pill, went to bed, fell asleep. Only she's nearly one hundred percent certain that he took more than one. She looks at the bottle, half empty, resting against the palm of her hand.

She thinks back on her memories of the rest of the apartment: the entranceway, the living room, the little bit of the kitchen which she'd seen when she came through the door. No, there'd been no sign of any other drugs, medicine, or alcohol, not that she could remember.

She can't help herself, though – she stands up quickly and walks over to his bathroom, switches on the light and checks the room with an experienced eye. Nothing out of the ordinary, not a single thing suggesting Castle was up to anything more tonight than knocking himself out with a little of his prescribed sleeping medication.

She flicks off the light, retraces her steps and returns to sit at his side, her eyes falling once again to the few scattered pills on his nightstand. He didn't take them all, at least she could be certain of that, certain that he definitely didn't try to, so it wasn't…her heart skips a beat as her mind struggles to finish that sentence.

No, she decides resolutely, this was absolutely _not_ a suicide attempt. This was merely a screw-up with dosage. She's not lying to herself – she realizes that the screw-up probably wasn't an accident, but judging by the rest of the evidence at hand, he wasn't trying to hurt himself, either.

Still, if he'd taken too much…

She thinks again, pondering the possibilities, her mind kicking automatically into detective mode. These are sleeping pills. If he took too many, if he overdosed, what would happen? A 'normal' overdose would most probably knock him out completely, presumably more heavily and quickly than the proscribed dosage, too, which may have been exactly what he was going for. A large overdose could potentially cause a near comatose state, with probable respiratory or cardiac complications, or worse. But that wasn't him. He wasn't comatose, not at all, had been conscious enough to call her and then, nearly an hour later, answer the door when he heard her insistent knocks. And he'd conversed with her, albeit in a very slow and confused manner, but still, he'd talked to her, answered her questions, at least to a certain degree. So she really doesn't think he's in imminent danger, not after all of that.

She lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding, finally forcing the tears threatening to push past her eyelids away. It's gonna be okay. She finally convinces herself of that, actually allows herself to believe. _He's _gonna be okay.

She looks at him then, his body curled into a fetal position over the covers, forehead still damp, dark hair tousled and unruly, endless circles running under his eyes. He seems to have dozed off again and Kate can't decide whether to consider that a good or a bad thing.

And just how the hell is she going to address this? The pills, the insomnia…this isn't her place, he obviously didn't want her to know about it, otherwise he would have told her, right? All these weeks, watching him grow more and more tired, being confused but never daring to ask…she wishes now she had found the courage. Still, she's afraid of what his answer would have been. Truth or lie? She can't decide which one would be worse. And, lest she forget, the pills and apparent insomnia aren't even the only problems in this whole mess.

_When I sleep, you die._

Oh God, what is she supposed to do with that confession? She's the _cause_ of it, of all of it, yet she has no defined position in his life right now, no solid foundation from which to help him, not unless he gives her one, lets her in, wants her to be there. She carefully places the bottle on the bedside table again, turns her body to his, runs her fingers gently through his hair.

_What am I going to do, Castle? What do you _want_ me to do?_

He shifts slightly, restless in his slumber, a silent moan leaving his lips. She glides her hands soothingly over his face, caresses his cheek.

She obviously can't stay here, or shouldn't. He won't have any recollection of even letting her into the loft when he wakes up the next morning, will be shocked and confused to find her here. But she has a hard time even thinking of standing up and leaving, not when she still harbors so much worry. Not when he's so fragile, so broken, so obviously hurting.

He moans again, his forehead wrinkling in discomfort, and her heart leaps in her chest when the sound of her name leaves his lips on a pain-filled gasp. She bends over him immediately, lips hovering at his ear as she hushes into the shell, her hand tracing random paths along the nape of his neck while the other loses itself in his hair. "It's okay, Castle, you're okay. I'm here."

Whether it's her voice, her touch, or the combination of the two, she doesn't know, but he seems to settle. Then, just when she thinks he's fallen into a deeper, more peaceful sleep, his eyes suddenly open, regarding her steadily in the dimness of his room. And Kate is startled to find _Castle_ looking back at her – the real Castle, not the drugged-out shell of a man she put to bed half an hour ago.

"Kate?" he asks quietly, eyes surprisingly clear and voice encouragingly firm, just the slightest hint of a question lacing his tone. She doesn't know what to do, or what to say. Her first instinct is to retract her hands from him, but he snags at her wrist with surprising speed, holding her in place. He doesn't seem to be all that confused to find her there, although he's clearly processing it, mulling it over in his tired, disordered mind. He seems to accept whatever conclusion his exhausted brain comes up with, however, because he threads their fingers together, bringing their joined hands up to his mouth to kiss her before lowering them to rest against his chest. A contented sigh leaves his lips, his eyes slipping closed once again.

"Will you stay?" he asks, eyes still closed, appearing to be back on the brink of sleep. "Stay, Kate. _Please_," he exhales, still holding tight to her hand.

And what can she do? Dammit, what can she do? What _should_ she do?

She should go. She should.

Yet despite her better judgment, she's already lowering herself down onto the bed beside him, curling against his side, bringing their faces closer together. Despite her better judgment, she stays.

Because despite her better judgment, this time, she won't walk away.

TBC

_AN – Share your intoxicated or as well as sober thoughts right here, in the RA (Reviews Anonymous) section below. ;) _


	22. Chapter 21 Castle and Beckett

_AN – Hey there! I know I skipped my usual Wednesday update, but unfortunately, RL has finally caught up with me. So I am sad to report, that from now on, I will probably be updating once a week, probably Saturday. BUT, in return, you get a really long update. :) Enjoy._

**CASTLE AND BECKETT**

When Castle wakes, the sun is already fully shining behind his tightly shut blinds. He feels a little confused as he stretches his limbs out over his silky covers, but surprisingly well-rested. He closes his eyes, letting the remnants of his dreams engulf him as he tries to remember what they were about. It's all a bit hazy, but it's still there, at the tips of his fingers as he reaches through his sleep-fogged mind, and he's suddenly hit with the strangest impression that his dreams involved Kate. That wouldn't be anything new – his dreams mostly revolve around Kate these days – but today, it feels like they were _good_ for a change. Despite the heavy haziness, he has a sense that they involved Kate somewhere in his loft, in his bedroom, in his bed even, which would definitely be a first in the long string of nights behind him, nights in which he sees nothing but her dying, nightmares from which he wakes drenched in sweat and calling her name on a desperate whimper, never able to fall asleep afterwards.

This night must have been different though, _a lot_ different, because wow, he actually slept through it soundly. His plan appears to have worked then. Maybe taking thrice the amount of his prescription was indeed a good move, especially given the fact that he doesn't recall – or that his mind simply refuses to remember, either one more than okay by him – having any of his regularly vivid and horrifying dreams.

He stretches again contentedly, only slightly disappointed when he finally turns onto his back and glances at the other side of bed, finding it empty. No Kate. Not that he was expecting to see her there, no, that would have been ridiculous. It's just...he can't really explain why, but he has this strange feeling that somehow, he didn't spend the night alone. Well he _did_, obviously, Castle thinks, still gazing at the empty sheets next to him somewhat ruefully. But if his bed was still just as empty as ever, at least his dreams had been nice for a change.

He swings his legs over the edge of the mattress, swiftly standing from the bed. He feels _good_. Good and rested. He walks to the bathroom, deciding that this day will be a positive one. He chances a glance in the mirror, ponders his reflection, considers that old man looking back at him and…smiles. _Smirks_, actually. And even _he_ can see how that simple, trademark grin makes all the difference on that other man, making him look more boyish, even a little more handsome, perhaps, though he doesn't really feel the need to go that far. Still, Castle vows he definitely has to smile more often. He brushes his teeth, then runs a comb through his disheveled hair, thinking again how really, _really_ good he feels about himself – about the world – this morning.

He returns to his bedroom and throws his favorite silky bathrobe over his shoulders, pulling his arms through the sleeves easily enough but not bothering to tie the knot, the straps flapping at his sides as he wanders through his study towards the living room. With a hand still sealed over his wide, yawning mouth, he shuffles out the door, his eyes casually roaming the loft in an absentminded manner. When his gaze settles on the scene playing out in his kitchen, however, he's stops abruptly, frozen in his tracks.

His mother's sitting at the counter having breakfast, sipping coffee and talking quietly with…_Kate_.

He's just standing there, rooted to the spot as he tries to force his still fuzzy mind to wrap around the picture before him, when Martha notices him at last and softly nudges Kate in order to notify her of his presence as well. Both women fall silent at once. Kate's head turns towards him and Castle cannot even begin to gauge the myriad emotions which flash across her face in that single moment. His mother though, that's a different story.

She's sporting a perfectly casual look, a soft smile playing across her lips. She's definitely an actress worth her money, Castle has to give her that, yet even she's not quite successful in concealing her true emotions from her son. No, even Martha Rodgers isn't that good – she might be smiling and acting as casual as possible, but there is something troubled in her face and Castle knows without a doubt, and more than a fair dose of embarrassment, that whatever the two women had been so worriedly debating when he'd entered had had something to do with _him_.

And even if his mother's acting charm does manage to cover over some of the tension and nervousness the room is suddenly humming with, Kate's expression – for once – reads like an open book. She's wearing her emotions on her sleeve, raw and needy, and her eyes are so visibly red-rimmed – _wait, has she been crying?_ – that Castle nearly forgets his initial shock at finding her in his loft this early in the morning, having breakfast and chatting with his mother as if it's a regular-day occurrence.

The older woman stands then, crossing the space dividing her from her son in a few, smooth strides and greets him with a good-natured pat and a light kiss against his cheek.

"Unfreeze, kiddo," she commands half-jokingly, gracing him with another of her rare, solemn smiles, something rueful glinting in her eyes as she regards him steadily. He's just about to ask her what's going on when she excuses herself from their company with her normal flare and is suddenly whirls back around with her usual flare, slipping into a pair of fashionable pumps waiting beside her vacated stool and grabbing her purse from the counter. She pats Kate's hand reassuringly, a silent communication passing between the two women for a moment before she makes her way to the door.

"What, you're not staying, Mother?" he asks in befuddlement, his brow furrowing as she waves him off.

"I'd love to, darling, but my presence is currently needed elsewhere. Besides, you and Kate have a lot to discuss and I'd hate to be in the way." With that, she glides gracefully out of his loft, shutting the door behind her with a distinctive click. How..._subtle_.

He shoots a surprised, funny look at Kate, his eyebrows raised in question, but she merely shrugs, a somewhat amused smile playing across her features before it slowly disappears, first from her eyes, then her lips.

And then it hits him, the fact that it's just the two of them now, and he suddenly feels more than a little self-conscious as he brings his hands up to tie both ends of the bathrobe tightly around his middle, fumbling with the knot just to have something to do as he slowly walks the rest of the way to his kitchen. He still has no idea why Kate's here, but she must catch on to his confusion and discomfort quick enough, because she sends him another soft, reassuring smile, beckoning him closer and directing him to sit on one of his own stools. He does, and only then does she finally, _finally_ speak.

"Hey," she offers gently, her eyes carefully sizing him up and down. "How are you feeling?"

Okay, so that's a little odd.

"Umm, good, actually." He replies, still slightly confused. "Better than I've felt in awhile." He watches her head give a slight nod and waits, but when she doesn't say anything further, his own impatience gets the better of him. "Don't get me wrong, because I'm not complaining, but what are you doing here, Kate?"

"Castle…" She gives him a careful, slightly hesitant look. "What do you remember from last night?"

Okay, they are obviously not on the same page here. What's going on? "Uh, going to bed and…sleeping, I guess?" _Without nightmares for a change_, his mind adds. "What _should_ I remember?" he asks carefully when she doesn't seem too satisfied with his answer, biting her lip in concern.

"You called me, Castle. Last night." She tilts her head slightly, voice soft, understanding. "You don't remember that?"

He looks at her for a long moment, desperately searching his brain, trying to find the memory to support her claim, but there's nothing, just those hazy, non-descript feelings his dreams have left him with. After a moment, he manages to shake his head at her, looking dumb as hell, he's sure, but he really has no idea what she's talking about. She just nods, sadness and a tinge of disappointment stealing for the shortest of moments across her face before she manages to pull it back together. But now her features are even more controlled, almost…neutral. Almost like a mask.

She looks calm – maybe _too_ calm, now that he comes to think of it, because it sure sounds like he screwed up royally last night, even if he can't remember it. So she's what? Trying to put him at ease? Telling him with her steady, even demeanor that she's not judging? Oh boy, this has to be _bad_…

She takes a deep breath, fixes her gaze with his. "Castle, you called me at three a.m., told me something was wrong, asked me to come over, and then hung up on me."

He listens silently, eyes widening as he takes in her words, his body sagging slightly in his chair because he honestly doesn't have any recollection of this, but if it's true…

"I was scared something might have happened to you, or to your mother, or maybe Alexis, so I rushed over. But when I got here, I found…" She falters for just a moment, almost too brief to catch, but when she speaks again, there's a strain, a thread of hurt that wasn't there before. "Castle, you were in this heavily sedated – almost intoxicated – state."

He feels the air being sucked from his lungs by the sheer force of his dread, which grips his chest in a vice-like grip. Oh _God._

Kate – _Kate_ of all people – saw him like that last night, drugged into oblivion by his own damn hand, by his own damn sleeping pills. So she knows, she _must_ know, how bad it is, how bad _he_ is. And the worst part is that he has absolutely no recollection of it whatsoever, or of the fact that he apparently _invited_ her in to watch him hit rock bottom on top of everything else.

He groans, his head falling into his hands as he rests his elbows heavily against the table. He's still confused as hell, but a strong wave of shame now joins the confusion, ripping jagged through his chest.

"I'm so, _so_ sorry, Kate," he offers quietly, wishing that the Earth would just open up and swallow him whole.

She shakes her head, won't let him continue apologizing. "No, that's not...that's not what I'm here for, Castle. I mean -" She stops, hesitates, won't say more, and he chances a look at her through his fingers, still too embarrassed to properly look her in the eye. Her mouth is pursed as she chews on her bottom lip, clearly contemplating how to continue.

"Was it the first time you took more of your meds than you were supposed to?" she asks at last, voice soft and composed. It doesn't even feel like a question, more like the beginnings of a prepared speech, an _intervention_, and Castle feels his stomach sink even further into the basement of his gut. God, he feels _so ashamed_. He averts his eyes from her, his fingers coming up to play with the half-filled glass of fresh juice that his mother abandoned before she left.

But Kate's waiting for his answer and she won't back down, Castle can tell. He decides there's no way around the issue but straight through, so he takes a deep gulp of air, preparing himself for the fallout. He never, absolutely _never_, wanted to have this conversation with her. Ever. She was not supposed to find out. But obviously his own damn treacherous subconscious had different plans.

He clears his throat, but his voice still comes out way too raspy as he finally responds. "Yeah, last night was the first time I took a bit more."

"How much more?" She inquires, and he's startled by the change in her, her voice still calm, but with a note of insistence to it, an underlying demand. She's also working that tint of forced casualness into her tone, which he recognizes only too well from all those suspect interviews he's witnessed her lead down at the 12th over the years. It's almost like she's interrogating him, too, and _damn_, now that he looks at her – her posture, her features – he just _knows_ she is, like he's another one of her gullible suspects. A surge of anger flares through his chest as he finally raises his eyes, straightening in his seat and looking back at her stubbornly, almost defiantly.

"A triple dosage," he challenges, with both voice and expression.

Her eyes slam shut, a painful sigh leaving her lips on an exhale and he instantly feels bad. He doesn't say anything more, averts his gaze again. He doesn't want to make her miserable, doesn't want her to feel responsible for his own damn issues. And he certainly can't deal with the pity he is sure to find in the green of her eyes once she opens them again.

"Why?" Her voice comes over as a whisper. "Why would you do this to yourself?"

This will be the hard part. He doesn't want to lie to her, but he can't tell her the truth either. So he stays silent, stubbornly sealing his lips against her inquiry. A moment goes by as she waits for an answer that will never come. She lets another heavy sigh slip loose before she speaks again.

"_When I sleep, you die,_" she says and Castle's heart stumbles in his chest, fluttering wildly with a nearly painful beat as she continues. "That's what you said to me last night. That you can't sleep because I die in your dreams."

He still won't look at her, horrified and so, _so_ angry at his stoned mind that obviously cannot keep its secrets to itself. He was such a _fool_. Why the hell did he take those _God-damned_ sleeping pills? He should have just waited for Mother Nature to take its course and knock him out at some point, when his body couldn't take the tiredness any longer. He may have collapsed with fatigue somewhere in public, in a store or a cab or a meeting or even on the damn street, but it would certainly be less humiliating that this.

"Is it true?" she presses, her voice ever so gentle yet urgent at the same time, and Castle has to close his eyes against the question, wishing he could have braced himself for this conversation somehow.

"Yes," he lets out at last and hears her sharp, painful intake of breath and only _now_ is he absolutely certain that there is no way in hell he can ever face her again. He's such a weakling, a pathetic, damaged weakling. He feels like throwing up, he feels like weeping. Or just passing out, he can't decide. He has to concentrate on his breathing, _hard_, not to fall apart right in front of her.

He's so focused on staying in one piece – _just that little while longer, just until she leaves_ – that his heart skips another beat when he feels her hand touch one of his own, slowly entwining their fingers in a tight, warm hold. He still won't open his eyes, doesn't want to face the pity and concern in her expression for the lousy wreck of a man she once knew, but then her other hand comes to cradle his face and he can't pretend this isn't happening anymore, not when his own body is betraying him and he's leaning back against her touch, seeking out as much of the contact as possible.

"You should have told me," she chastises him gently when he finally opens his eyes to look at her, and there is no pity in her gaze, no. There is resolve, and surprising fierceness, and…and, he barely dares to breathe, but he thinks that's more than concern shimmering in her eyes. He thinks it might be…_love._ He gazes back at her, mesmerized by that look on her face, that perfect mix of all of the elements of Kate Beckett that he ever fell in love with.

_Kind and fierce and strong. _

"You know it can't go on like this, right?" she continues gently and his head falls to his chest, in shame as well as despair.

"I don't know what else to do," he voices helplessly at last. "The pills help me to get at least some sort of rest." It's a weak defense, he knows that.

"They're not a solution to the problem, Castle. Just a temporary fix. And they _can_ be dangerous, get addictive over time, you know that too, right? Especially when you take liberties with the dosage." She looks at him calmly, knowingly, and something in his gut twists painfully. God, she _does_ know this, she's been here before. Did it start like this for her dad, too? Only she didn't try to stop him then, at the very beginning, like she is now with _him? _Damn, he can't…he can't even go that far…what this must look like – _feel_ _like_ – for her, being back on that side of the conversation again.

He stays silent, still won't look at her. She takes a deep, slightly frustrated breath and from the corner of his eye, he can see her run her fingers through her hair, a motion he knows, a reflexive habit she has when she's trying to win herself a little more time to think.

"I'm not judging you, Castle, okay?" she says at last, her voice coming from far nearer now all of a sudden, and when he raises his eyes, he finds her right there, inches away from his face, her gaze intense upon him.

"I am definitely _not _judging. Nor am I implying that you're an addict. But, Castle, what happened yesterday was a warning sign. And I don't want – I _can't_…" She struggles with her words. "It tears me apart just thinking of you having to go through so much pain every night. And I won't lie to you: it scares me too, that you might do something stupid, or rash, or reckless, out of sheer despair." He's still watching her silently, transfixed by both her words and her proximity.

"I want to help you, okay? But you need to want that, too."

She falls silent then, as well, and it takes him a moment to realize that she's waiting for a sign from him, anything at all, to show that he's heard what she said. He slowly nods, watching the slightest gleam of relief unfurl in her eyes.

"Will you let me help you?" Her voice is trembling now. She's unsure, so clearly unsure of herself, of her words, of her place, and he doesn't like that. Oh, he doesn't like that at all. He wants his strong, resolute, slightly bossy Beckett back, to tell him what to do.

He still hasn't responded to her question, but she seems to take his continued silence as an assent. "I think you need to see somebody about this, Castle. About the insomnia, about the dreams – these nightmares you're having. As soon as possible."

He feels slightly uncomfortable at that proposal. He hates shrinks. They always try to take him apart, simplify his problems, his fears. He's tried therapy several times in his life, hell, he even went to couples counseling with Gina and look what _that_ got him. A second divorce.

His fingers squeeze together lightly under the pressure of Kate's, snapping him out of his reverie. "Hey, it's nothing to be ashamed of. I've been to therapy – I'm _still _in therapy – for everything that's happened. Do you think less of me because of it?"

"Of course not!" he replies quickly.

"Then what is it?" she nudges gently.

He sighs, takes a deep breath, considers retracting his hand, just so he can find his bearings again on his own. But her touch feels so good, so reassuring, and he can't bring himself to do it. "I don't want to talk about them," he rasps at last, his eyes trained upon a drop of juice spilled over the counter.

"About what?" Her thumb is running rhythmic circles across the back of his hand. It's maddening and soothing all at once.

"The dreams," he admits at last. "I don't want to talk about the dreams."

He hears her exhale, loud and long, her body withdrawing from his slightly as she slumps back against her own stool. She doesn't let go of his hand though, merely grips tighter, and he's glad. Holding hands. Yes, that's what they're good at. When all words fail them, there is always at least this. He loves this kind of connection with her, craves it, draws strength from it. So he holds on, as tightly as he dares.

She seems to be contemplating her next words carefully, and as he looks at her, he can see regret and sadness brimming in her eyes. "I know it sounds hard, Castle, I know you think there's no way you can ever trust another person with your deepest fears, but please…" She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment. "Please, don't make the same mistakes I did. I refused treatment for my issues for so long, and I sometimes think…" She doesn't finish that sentence, and she looks conflicted.

"Think what?" he prods softly.

She draws a deep breath. "I sometimes think that if I had sought treatment sooner, I might have been somewhere else by now. Somewhere…further. In a better place, a safer place in my mind. And possibly I'd…I'd be with you, too." Her quiet admission is overwhelming, and simply too much to comprehend, or too much for right now anyway, so he drops his eyes from hers, searching for a way to alleviate the weight of it.

"Yeah, well, considering how screwed up _I_ am at the moment, it could take years." He throws her a small, self-deprecating smirk, but she doesn't return it, her features solemn yet gentle, eyes glinting with so much unspoken emotion that it steals his breath away.

"Maybe. But I'm not going anywhere." Her grip on his fingers tightens again and he's surprised to find that something in his chest unclenches in equal measure at her words.

_She understands. And she's willing to wait._

"I'm so tired, Kate," he admits suddenly, a wave of exhausted dizziness hitting him out of nowhere.

"I know," she whispers, raising her hand and running her fingers soothingly through his hair. "I know you are, Castle." He leans further into her touch, reflexively nuzzling his face against her palm. He just wants to rest. With her. Like this.

"I still can't sleep, though," he sighs. "Last night was the first night I've slept more than three hours in a row since…I honestly can't even remember when. The pills…I don't think I'll be able to make it without them."

She hesitates for the shortest of moments before she responds. "Even with the meds, you still couldn't sleep, Castle. You think you did, but only because you can't remember – you were too heavily sedated. Even once I got you back to bed," she explains, "you woke up at least five times from nightmares. I…I managed to talk you through them, eventually, but you still had them."

His head jerks up sharply at that. "You were _there?_" The thought hadn't even occurred to him before now, although it really, really should have. She'd been there _in his room_ with him? The entire night?

She pulls her bottom lip nervously between her teeth before nodding. "Yes."

"In my room? In my bed, with me?"

"Yes."

"The whole night?" he confirms, feeling amazed at this discovery. It definitely explained the hazy feelings of contentment he'd woken up with, that's for sure. She'd been right there, all night, looking out for him, taking care of him. She'd had his back, even when he'd been too drugged out to realize it.

"Yes."

If she continues to bite her lip like that, she'll surely draw blood. He takes a moment to observe her, really observe her: the luminous white of her skin, the rich brown of her hair, the deep green of her eyes, the soft pink of her lips. She had been curled up beside him in his bed the _whole night_ and he has no recollection of it? Damn, talk about _bad luck!_

"I can't believe I don't remember," he says in astonishment, a healthy dose of disappointment infusing his tone. His obvious regret at the loss of that particular memory manages to lure a small smile from her lips, but her face grows serious sooner than he'd like.

"Yeah, well, the point is that the pills clearly aren't helping you to sleep, Castle. But maybe you just need someone with you, you know? Someone to get you through the night. Maybe you just need to not be alone. At least until you tackle your issues with a good therapist who can help you through it all."

"To have somebody with me, in the room?" he contemplates her suggestion. "Okay…but who?" he wonders aloud, noticing right away how uncomfortable she looks at his offhanded question. She obviously doesn't have an answer. But he _wants_ her to have an answer. And he wants her to have the same answer he just thought of in this very moment.

"I don't know. Maybe a family member? Or a friend?" she offers tentatively. Which is a weak suggestion, even she must know that. There's just no way in hell he's letting his _mother_ watch over him while he sleeps. And he would absolutely never burden Alexis with this – she doesn't even know how severe his insomnia has gotten. And friends…well…it's probably sad to say, but he doesn't have that many friends. Or those _kinds_ of friends at least, the kind he'd be willing to _entrust _with something as private and delicate as this.

The realization nearly brings him to tears, and he feels so, so lost. Lost and tired.

"Well what about _you_?" he blurts out, because yes, it's crazy, completely crazy, but he doesn't see another option. He doesn't _want_ another option. He just wants her, he just wants Kate. He sees the uncertainty rise in her eyes the moment the words leave his mouth, but he's beyond caring, because God, once that thought roots in his brain, he sees no other option, refuses to see any other option.

"Would _you_ stay with me?" he presses further, a miserable yet earnest quality to his voice. "I promise you, Kate, no strings attached," he adds as a second thought, his mind now set on reaching his goal, eyes glinting dangerously despite the despairingly weak tone of the words leaving his lips.

"Castle, I don't think…" she starts and he can see the refusal coming, can nearly taste it in the air surrounding them, and he suddenly can't take it, not another rejection, not another disappointment.

"Please, Kate," he begs, his eyes flooding with sharp, frantic tears. He's never felt more pathetic in his life, never _begged_ for something this pitifully. But he's so tired, so damn exhausted, and he just can't pretend anymore. The truth is, he's a freaking wreck. "I _need_ you," he finally wheezes, nearly choking on his own whisper, and then, to his great horror, those god-forsaken tears actually start to escape his eyes.

He wants to cover them up, wants to hide from her, hide his weakness, but before he knows what's happening, her fingers are around his wrists, gently pulling his hands down and away from his face, her palms returning instantly to cradle his cheeks. She directs his head into the crook of her shoulder, pulling him into the safe cocoon of her arms, into her warm, secure embrace. And for the first time in the last nine months, Rick can't even fathom the idea of holding himself together. He just doesn't have the strength. He doesn't _want_ to have the strength. And so he lets go.

"It's alright, it's alright. You're okay, Castle, I'm here. And I'll stay," she murmurs into his ear, over and over again like a mantra as he silently sobs, so _unmanly_, so_ pathetically_, against her shoulder. "I'll be here, I'll be with you until you can manage to sleep on your own. I promise."

It takes a while for him to get his bearings again and when he does, he's left with a feeling of deep embarrassment gripping his guts. He just _wept_ all over Kate Beckett. Jesus. He's never going to live this down. But when he looks at her, she's smiling at him, a watery, emotional, yet still perfect smile, and his heart skips a beat. _He loves her, God help him, he loves her so much._

They make arrangements. She timidly suggests calling Burke for advice on a specialist, if Castle doesn't have one in mind, which he doesn't, and she reassures him it will all be okay. It's already past lunch when she grabs her purse and stands up, ready to leave. And even though he knows it's ridiculous, a surge of panic assaults him. But she'll be back. She will. Still…

"So…see you tonight?" His voice is tinged with hesitation and uncertainty, but there's hope there as well.

"You'll see me tonight," she confirms immediately, eyes gentle on his own, and something in his chest eases.

"Oh and Castle?" she adds, turning back to look at him, already halfway to his door. "No funny business. I still sleep with my gun," she warns, and he actually lets out a low chuckle.

"Scout's honor," he assures, raising two fingers in the air to support his claim.

"You were never a scout," she scoffs, amusement twinkling in her eyes. "But I'll take your word for it," she adds more softly, finally reaching the door and swinging it open. She throws him one last reassuring smile before stepping out of sight, and for a moment, he can't help the irrational feeling that this is the last time he'll ever see her. Because it was exactly like this, before. Exactly like this the last time he let himself feel hope, feel happiness.

And that uneasy feeling won't leave him throughout the day as he wanders aimlessly about his apartment, unable to settle on any one task but trying desperately to kill the time until the sky darkens and it's once again night. He struggles to keep his anxiety at bay, the fear that she's not coming back, and then finally, at nine p.m. on the dot, she's there, at his door, as agreed, a small duffle bag in her hand and a tiny, almost shy smile dancing over her lips.

He can't help but stare at the bag, and faint shadows of uncertainty and self-consciousness steal across her face as she clears her throat. "I need to go to work in the morning, and it's a long way to my dad's and back, so I thought I would just change here."

He nods dumbly in agreement, momentarily taken aback but still unaccountably giddy at the sight of that tiny black bag. "Yeah, of course. Of course."

It's a bit awkward, that first night as they lie down in his bed, each of them on their respectful side, because the last time…oh, the last time. Castle suddenly finds it extremely difficult to banish those memories from his head, the images razor-sharp, vivid and intoxicating, but he has to stop thinking about it, because if he doesn't, it'll make him say something utterly stupid, or worse, _do_ something utterly stupid. But he promised her no funny business and he intends to keep his word.

It feels strange and even a little embarrassing to have her here, in his bed like this. But he feels oddly reassured at the same time, feels undeniably _safe_ as she bids him goodnight when he switches off the light on his side of the bed, hers still on while she goes over some case files for the morning.

It all feels so domestic and confusing, completely _odd_, because God, this is _so_ right, but they are doing it in the most wrong order possible. He wants her there, so much, with him, every night. But not as a night's watch, or a guardian over his sleep. He wants her there as a girlfriend, a partner, a lover. A wife. But…well, for now, this will have to do. Still, it just feels…strange.

It feels a hell of a lot less strange a couple of hours later, though, when he wakes from a nightmare, drenched in sweat, and nearly doubles over in relief when he finds her there, speaking soothingly to him, stroking his face as she helps him come down from his hyper-panicked state. And it feels even more right when he manages, for the first time _ever_, to fall back asleep.

He wakes twice more that night. But each time just her mere presence, the simple, unassailable evidence that she is very much alive and well, helps him to calm down, helps him feel safe enough to slip back into sleep.

And as Castle slowly comes to in the morning – after a not completely uninterrupted yet still restful enough night – he finds Kate slumbering soundly beside him and he suddenly feels genuine, unhinged hope spreading throughout his chest. Because maybe, just maybe, things might actually return to normal for them after all.

TBC

_Keep calm and leave a review. :)_


	23. Chapter 22 Castle, Beckett and Alexis

_My beta is on vacation! *cries* So lets all wish her a great vacation and safe and soonish return! In the meantime, enjoy the newest update._

**CASTLE, BECKETT and ALEXIS**

They quickly establish a regular routine. She always goes back to her father's place after work, consistently leaving the 12th at a decent hour for a change, one of the very few perks of being stuck on desk duty. She's quick to take a shower, change and repack her duffle bag, but she makes a point of spending some time with her dad, too – sometimes having dinner, sometimes reading a book while he watches some sport or other on television, sometimes just playing a few hands of cards or a game of checkers. She always leaves for Castle's soon after that, though.

She told her father where she was going those first few nights – though she didn't give him any details, just said that Castle had some issues he needed help with – and he never pressed her for more than that, not even for an answer to the most obvious question of all: what exactly did Castle need help with every, single _night? _But Jim Beckett wasn't one to pry, and for that Kate was eternally grateful.

So, every day she arrives at his place sometime between eight and ten p.m., and they either share a late meal, watch some TV, read books or just talk. It's a really nice rhythm they've established, quite enjoyable. There are times when they just chat about her day at the precinct, about the tedious stacks of paperwork that magically appear at her desk every single morning. Or, when the mood is right, they'll discuss the extensive therapy he's committed to, his schedule consisting of either daily or every-other-day sessions. Castle's got time on his hands now, a lot of time in fact, and he either spends it in therapy or with her.

And even she can tell how fidgety it makes him feel, useless, too, even though he would never admit to that, claiming instead that he's finally enjoying the down time that a well-situated man of his years deserves. But since he won't come back to the precinct, and with his mood for writing so successfully killed by her disappearing act, Kate understands only too well how much being stranded on this large, lonely isle of boredom must be getting to Richard Castle, always the man of action. He doesn't want to let it show, but it still does, and she feels helpless and regretful, though she won't say anything either. Because acknowledging the issue would open up a whole new can of worms for him, and he has a lot to deal with right now as it is.

She returns to work. And things are getting back to normal. She isn't allowed into the field just yet, but she still gets a taste of that old existence, of her old lifestyle. Of how it _feels_ to do something good for other people, even if it's only by properly filling out paperwork right now. She's back in her working routine, has social interactions, goes to lunch with her friends. None of which includes Castle at the moment, of course. And that's part of the reason why she doesn't even question their odd shared arrangement, how she practically lives with him, how she returns to his loft from work, with only a slight detour to her father's, every single night. How they sleep together, in the same bed. In the most platonic of ways.

It gets to her sometimes, frustrates her – makes her edgy, fidgety and uneasy. Since that night when he'd called her over and she'd discovered what he had tried so hard to hide from the world, he's stopped any kind of advances on her. It's not a punishment, she knows that much. But she doesn't really understand the reason behind his self-imposed reservations either.

He's being…a friend. A great one to be sure, but nothing more. And sometimes, it's not enough for Kate. She wants more, so much more, but she also understands that he has other matters on his mind besides her need for him. The way he's dived into his therapy is intense, sometimes even brutal, if she's being honest. There are times when they sit together in his kitchen in absolute silence, and he won't utter a single word to her the whole night, his mood gloomy and dark, and she knows that whatever was discussed behind the therapist's door that day was anything but easy for him. She lets him be on those nights, doesn't pressure him into talking about it.

But she is there for him, in every other way possible. And it seems to be paying off.

He still wakes at night, drenched in sweat, sometimes calling her name. But the nightmares are less frequent and less intense now. And there are nights when he doesn't even wake at all.

He seems more restful and more calm these days. More at ease in general. And sometimes, when he looks at her, smiles at her in that special, warm, mischievous way of his, it breaks her heart and then puts it right back together again in the same heartbeat. She loves him, more and more with each passing day. Especially since she's getting to know him on a wholly different level, a deeper level, thanks to those shared evenings and those weird, platonic-yet-still-intimate nights. Getting to know the true Richard Castle, as probably no one else outside his immediate family has ever had the chance to do. And she cannot get enough of him.

In the darkness of the night, they often talk in whispers, share secrets. Sometimes they banter, sometimes they just sleep, and sometimes he lets her caress him, returning the sentiment only too eagerly. It's the only time and place he allows them to be different, to be more, the only time he shows any sort of deeper emotions towards her. When his fingers thread through her hair, steal over the crown of her head, his nose nuzzling her cheek, her neck, his hand seeking out hers in the darkness of the night. She wouldn't trade those moments for anything.

That very first night, they slept apart. Until he woke just a few hours later, moaning and gasping from a nightmare. And as time passed, she found it easier to put his restless mind at ease by simply being closer to him, found that her touch soothed him best. So as their nights progressed, they gradually closed the gap, learned to share the same space, her head often coming to rest on his shoulder or his chest, directly over his heart.

Their mornings have a scheduled routine to them as well. She's nearly always the first to wake, just on the brink of sunrise. She quietly pads over the wooden floors of his loft to the kitchen, starts the coffee and often has breakfast ready by the time he joins her a little while later, his head sleepy and disheveled, all rosy cheeks, puffy eyes and the most adorable smile playing over his lips. Those are the hardest times for her to hold herself back, to keep herself from just going to him, just kissing him.

But they play this game of house and surprisingly enough, it doesn't feel nearly as weird as it should. So when she wakes one morning, slips from beneath the sheets, quietly dresses for work, and then makes her way to the kitchen to start the coffee, as is her daily ritual by now, she finds herself stunned and immobilized at the sight of Alexis Castle perched on one of the kitchen stools, a heavy law book open in front of her with a glass of juice frozen mid-way to her lips, her eyes equally shocked and huge as they gauge Kate, coming out of her father's bedroom.

xxx

"What do you want for dinner?"

"Castle, I'm kind of in the middle of something – can I call you back?"

Okay, so she's lying. She isn't in the middle of anything really, but she feels more than a little angry with him and she doesn't want to get into it right now.

"Oh, um...okay. I'll call you later."

She can tell he's thrown by the harshness of her tone and she forces herself to breathe through her chagrin. She knows she shouldn't be angry with him. Because it's not any of her business how he deals with his own daughter. On the other hand, though, maybe she's allowed to feel _slightly_ justified about her anger, especially when his actions – or _inactions_ – leave _her_ exposed to the wrath of his enraged teenage daughter, who _he_, for some reason, decided to keep in the dark about the current state of his life.

"Why didn't you tell Alexis about yourself? About _us_?" she suddenly blurts out, all of her good intentions swallowed by her own aggravation, the notion of leaving this impending conversation for a more suitable and private time flying out the window.

"_Us_?" the slightly squeaky hitch in his voice would be most amusing under a different set of circumstances, but it only makes her more irritated right now. Her emotions had been rubbed raw in the morning's unfortunate encounter with the furious teenager, those same emotions then subsequently fueled by her own mind's damnable wanderings. So she has no patience to spare, her chest feeling tight and sore and heavily bruised.

"Don't play dumb, Castle," she warns with perhaps a tad more vigor than necessary before looking around the bullpen. Her little outburst on the phone has already drawn Espo's and Ryan's attention, and if she doesn't want to turn even more heads her way, she knows she has to cool it, turn it down a notch. She lowers her voice considerably, still hissing into the receiver. "Yes, about _us_, Castle. Us and our…_sleeping arrangements_."

"Oh." _Why the hell is he so slow on the uptake today?_

"Yeah: _Oh_. And why the hell didn't you tell me she'd be home? I would have snuck out sooner if I knew it posed such a _problem_ for you to tell her the truth," she seethes, still refusing to acknowledge that her anger has anything to do with his obvious reluctance to tell the most important person in his life about her and everything to do with how embarrassing it was to try to explain to Alexis just what the hell she'd been doing there at seven o'clock in the morning.

"Alexis was home?" he rasps out.

"Yeah! She spotted me just as I was about to leave for work this morning. Needless to say, she wasn't impressed with finding me there, coming out of your _bedroom_ nonetheless." She lets out an exasperated sigh then listens to his sharp intake of breath, immediately realizing that he's as surprised by this news as she'd been this morning. She forces herself to backpedal a little, lean off of him, continuing in a more measured tone. "You didn't know she'd be home, did you?"

"No," he laments and something in his voice makes Kate instantly drop her snarky tone, leaving only despair and misery in its wake.

The morning encounter had been anything but pleasant, not for her and certainly not for Alexis. She can still see the shock and subsequent coldness in the redhead's eyes, can hear the harsh words which ring in her ears even now, hours later. And she can't even blame the girl for the way she feels about Kate, the things she thinks Kate's done. Alexis is right, in her own, hurt way, she's right in what she said about the older woman. And maybe that's what weighs so heavily on Kate – knowing that the anger and blame she is currently feeling shouldn't be directed at anyone one else but herself.

She sighs, grips her mobile tighter to her ear. "Hold on a second," she directs Castle, quickly standing from her chair and walking across the bullpen, looking for a quieter and more private environment she can use to talk to him. Interrogation room 2 is currently empty and she slips inside unnoticed, closing the door behind her with a distinctive click. He must hear the sudden dying off of any background noise, because he starts talking again, quickly. "What happened? Was she angry?"

Kate leans back heavily against the table, closes her eyes against the onslaught of images and words which had been directed at her, _against_ her, from the younger woman. Her voice is soft when she replies. "What do you think? She caught me walking out of your bedroom, cuffing the sleeves of my blouse. How would _that_ look to you?"

He just groans in return and she really wishes he'd communicate in a more eloquent manner. (s) She feels tired and emotionally drained, Alexis' words having left a deep, weeping wound in her heart.

"Why didn't you tell me she hates me, Castle?" she says into the silence of the receiver, her voice soft and more than a little hurt.

"WHAT?" She can hear both shock as well as appeal in his voice, yet it does nothing to appease her wildly beating heart. "That's ridiculous! Alexis doesn't _hate_ you, Kate!"

She lets out a mirthless laugh. "Yeah well, that's not what she told me."

"She _told_ you she hates you?" his tone suggests disbelief and doubt and it merely twists the blade in her chest.

"Not in so many words. But the intent was there," she says out of sheer stubbornness, even as her mind wills her mouth to shut the hell up and not make this conversation about her. Because it's not, or at least it shouldn't be.

_You're not good enough for him. You've always just led him on. You're selfish. You broke his heart. You never appreciated him. His hands were shaking so hard he had to ask_ me _to fasten the black tie around his neck the day of your funeral._

She closes her eyes against the image, concentrates on the man in question, currently silent on the other end of the line. He doesn't say a word and she knows she's struck him speechless. Her butt digs into the edge of the table, a hand resting over her face as the other still clutches the phone to her ear.

"I…" she sighs, all power leaving her. "I'm just…I'm just surprised." she whispers. "You should have told me how she feels about me, Rick. But that's not even the real problem. More importantly, you should have told her about _you_," she utters quietly.

"I am so sorry Kate," he whispers, but she doesn't want his apologies.

"Talk to her," she tells him firmly. _Make it all okay again. Make her like me. Make her believe that I care about you,_ she thinks petulantly. That's not what she tells him, though. Because once again, this in _not_ about her, it's not even about _them_. This is about him and his daughter. So instead of voicing the childish wishes of her crestfallen heart, she says, "You need to talk to her about your problems. I can't even believe you managed to hide this from her for so long, Castle. She is so scared for you."

She can hear him breathing hard on the other end of the line, knowing he probably can't concentrate on anything else right now but the thoughts of his daughter finally finding out about everything he'd apparently tried to hold back and shield her from.

"I just told her I was there because you were having some issues that I was helping you to work through." she explains, running her hand through her hair a little warily. "I don't think she really believed me, though. You need to talk to her," she repeats again, gently but firmly. "I know you want to protect her from this, Castle, but she's not a child anymore."

She hears a heavy, nearly painful sigh, and then just continued breathing, and she momentarily wishes he would offer her more.

"Kate, I'm-" he starts, but she cuts across.

"_-sorry_. I know, Castle. But you need to talk to your daughter and fix this. I think she's really hurt. She actually left the loft before _I_ could."

She won't tell him how Alexis stormed out on her, mumbling angrily in her wake as she slammed the door shut so harshly that Kate had been scared the noise would wake up Castle. She won't tell him how she sat in his kitchen for another half hour, trying to calm down, settle her frayed nerves, pull herself together enough to be able to leave for work, praying he wouldn't rise in time to see her red-rimmed, swollen eyes. She won't even tell him how deeply Alexis' words have cut her, how much she hoped for a friendly relationship with his daughter, or how taken aback and overwhelmed she was by the amount of spite in the teenager. She won't tell him all of that, because this is not about her, even if she wishes it were, wishes it were that simple. But no, this is about a relationship between a struggling father and a grown-up daughter he wants to keep protecting like a little girl.

"Go after her, Castle, and don't leave until you two are okay," she advises gently. "She deserves to know the truth."

There is silence at the other end of the line, then a quiet "Okay."

xxx

She won't answer his call. His own daughter won't answer his call.

He drives to the campus, slightly aggravated yet nervous at the same time. Okay, so he screwed up. He didn't tell Alexis, deliberately kept her in the dark about his trouble with sleeping, hoping that if he tried really, really hard, with Kate's help, he might get better soon enough so that his daughter would never even have to find out. He was just trying to protect her. Which had apparently backfired. Spectacularly. And right into Kate's face, on top of everything else.

He doesn't know exactly what words were exchanged between his daughter and Kate, but through his horrified haze, he had heard the tension in her voice, the high-strung quality which laced it as she was urging him to talk to Alexis. She had made it all about his daughter, about Alexis, and the only giveaway that their 'talk' that morning had been about so much more than just his psychological welfare was Kate's initial claim that Alexis had said she hated her. And oh God, he can't even go there, can't imagine such a scenario.

He knows his daughter, knows how fierce and intense she can be in reaching for her life's goals, as well as her anger and sometimes petulance, but he can't imagine – he doesn't _want_ to imagine – what the heated redhead must have told Kate for her to think she actually hated her.

He isn't completely oblivious, knows that Alexis has harbored some antagonistic feelings towards Kate ever since the shooting, when she disappeared for three long months, but the two of them seemed to have cleared the air after Kate returned to the precinct later that year. Still, he remembers how Alexis' fury had flared up on his behalf once she discovered Kate's death had been staged. He knows his daughter's anger is partly his fault, too, because of the way he let himself go in those following months, because he couldn't put on a more cheerful mask in front of her, be a better father to her when she needed him. And he knows Alexis has always been more than a little protective of his feelings. But still, _hate_ is a very, very strong word.

And yet… he knows Kate Beckett. And he knows she's not a person to indulge in melodrama, knows that if she thinks Alexis' feelings to be genuine, his daughter must have really given her a hell of a good reason to believe so.

This is something he'll need to address too, this animosity between his daughter and his…uh, whatever Kate was. But first things first – he needs to repair the damage he caused all on his own by not letting his daughter know how serious his problems were. Maybe he'll even be able to kill two birds with one stone when he explains to Alexis what a fundamental part Kate's played in his process of healing.

He parks the car in an empty spot in front of the campus. It's midday, so most students are either in class or somewhere around the town, making the parking lot relatively empty. He walks to the dorms, finds Alexis' room fairly quickly, having helped her move here only a couple of months ago.

He doesn't know whether she'll be here – maybe she has a class, he hasn't checked her timetable – but he has to find her and this is the best place to start. He knocks and waits, then knocks some more. Finally, he can hear quiet shuffling behind the door, the padding of feet, then the rattle of the lock as it's turned. He takes a deep breath, bracing himself for either the impact of his furious daughter or the possibility of disappointment – maybe it's just her roommate.

But it's not. Because when the door opens a couple of inches, familiar flaming red hair appears in the small slit of light, along with her red, puffy, crystal blue eyes. She looks at him somewhat shyly before she actually realizes who's standing at her doorstep.

A stab of pain grips his heart when he sees the moment of hesitance in her posture – she's deciding whether or not she'll let him in. But then the door opens fully, a silent invitation as he walks inside. His daughter closes the door behind him, pressing her back against it, bracing herself as she watches him from behind her long, sandy lashes, still clogged with salty tears. His heart sinks at the sight.

"Detective Beckett called you," she says without preamble and he doesn't miss the formal use of Kate's name. He nods.

"I think we need to talk," he offers.

"Isn't it a bit late for that, Dad?" she asks, eyebrow rising, and he nearly winces at the coldness in her voice.

"That depends," he responds evenly.

"On what?"

"On whether you're willing to hear me out or not." She gives him a long, contemplative look and he holds his breath.

"Okay," she sighs, gesturing towards the bed. She crosses the room herself, sinking down onto the corner of the patchwork duvet, and he gingerly sits beside to her. She climbs higher on the bed, resting her back against the wall to face him even as her arms sneak around her legs, and his heart squeezes in his chest painfully at the protective gesture. His baby is protecting herself, against _him_. He tries not to let the hurt show too much.

She's looking at him expectantly now, lips pursed and posture rigid. And for once, he's lost for words. Because she looks so grown up, so self-reliant and nothing like his little girl anymore. And for a second, he allows himself to mourn the loss. He looks down at his hands, fidgets with his fingers.

"I'm sorry, Alexis," he says, deciding it's best to start with an apology. Because he's hurt her and he has always made it a point to teach her to know when to come forward and say you're sorry. "I should have told you what was going on. But I didn't, and for that, I am sorry."

He's still looking at his hands, feels uncomfortable now, now that the tables have been turned. He isn't used to being on this side of the conversation with her. He feels the mattress dip then and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Alexis crawl closer to him, her small, gentle hands sliding into his larger ones.

"What's going on, Daddy?" she asks, and all of a sudden, she's his little girl again, fragile and afraid. He can't even help it as he pulls her into a crushing embrace.

He tells her, there in his arms, in hushed tones and the quietness of her room, about his dreams, his insomnia, the sleeping pills and the extensive therapy he's currently undertaking, laying it all bare for his child to see. They talk for a long time, until it seems they've thoroughly exhausted the topic, delved into every aspect of it. But they've been skirting one subject in particular.

"About Kate," he says at last, continuing even as he feels his daughter to freeze at his side. "It's not what it looks like. She's there to help me through the nights, the nightmares. So she can wake me if I have them, reassure me that they're just dreams."

"Why _her_?" Alexis spits rather harshly and Castle can clearly hear everything she's not saying. _Why the woman who's the reason for all of this? Why not me? Why didn't you ask _me_? I would have helped._

"Because you're my daughter," he explains quietly, already feeling her draw in a breath to protest, but he beats her to it. "And I'm the parent. And parents are like that. They don't want to burden their children." She opens her mouth again but he talks over her. "Even when they know that their children are sweet and willing and grown up and just want to help. But it's not easy for _anybody_ to admit to their weakness, Alexis, and especially not parents to their children."

"Why?" she asks, genuine puzzlement now shining in her eyes. He gives her a weak smile, squeezing her shoulders.

"Because I'm used to being your superhero, your knight in shining armor. The man who chases all the monsters hiding under your bed away."

"Oh, Dad," she whispers, her eyes shining way too brightly now. "You are _still_ my superhero." She crashes into him and hugs him tight as his heart swells in his chest. "You'll _always_ be my superhero!"

He cradles her to him, fingers stroking over her hair. He sighs, the sound somewhat remorseful. "I can't believe how all grown up you already are. You're not a little girl anymore," he says with a hint of heavy acceptance. "I know I should have told you what going on. But I was just so ashamed."

"Daddy…"

"Forgive me."

"Always."

They stay like that for a long moment, until Alexis speaks again. "So what _is_ going on between you and Kate now?" He doesn't miss the fact that they're back to 'Kate' again. _Thank God._

"It's…complicated," he lets out in response, but his answer seems to irk Alexis.

"Are you and Kate together?" she asks outright, but he only sighs.

"No."

"_No_?" She looks genuinely confused. Must have heard the longing in his voice then, too.

"She doesn't love you? She doesn't want to be with you?" his daughter asks, a glint of anger and hurt flashing in her wide blue eyes.

_No._ "No, no, no, no, Alexis. It's not like…" He takes a deep breath, wishing words would stop eluding him so easily today. "Things between us are the way they are because of…me."

"So what exactly _are_ things between the two of you?" she inquires, and Castle can see the stubbornness with which she's bitten into the subject. Like a pit bull. He knows she won't drop it until she gets the answers she's after.

"We're friends. Good friends. For now."

"For now?"

"Yes."

"But you want more." It's not a question and something inside him breaks when he sees the disappointment in his daughter's eyes.

"I do."

"Why?"

_Because I'm in love with her. _

He doesn't answer, so she elaborates. "How can you still want to be with her after everything she's done to you? After how much she's hurt you?" Her voice is calm, and he's actually glad to see genuine puzzlement and bewilderment on her face. That's good, he can work puzzlement and bewilderment, can explain away the confusion.

"Because the heart wants what the heart wants." It's always been as simple, and as complicated, as that with Kate.

Alexis seems to ponder this. "What if she hurts you again? What if you're making a mistake by trusting her again?"

"Then it's mine to make," he tells her with a dose of finality and resolution to his words, and he can see the moment they start to sink in, can see the acceptance forming on Alexis' face.

"But I really don't think it _is_ a mistake, me and Kate. Not this time," he continues softly, craving the truth of his words.

Alexis bites her bottom lip as she mulls over his words. Then, in a surge of protectiveness, she asks: "Does she still make you happy?"

His eyes crinkle, growing tender. He remembers this conversation only too well. And his answer still hasn't changed. "Yeah, she does."

He smiles at her, watches her give a tiny nod before he continues, pushing for that last missing piece of this conversation. "So is it possible for me to hope that you'll give Kate another chance? Can you do that for me, Alexis?" He nudges her with his shoulder. "Please?" he adds on a whiny tone. And the corner of his mouth lifts in both mirth and joy when he sees his daughter's face stretch in a responding grin of her own.

TBC

_Thoughts? Reviews? Flowers? Chocolate? Puppies? I take all!_


	24. Chapter 23 Castle and Beckett

_Sorry I didn't update yesterday as promised. I was at a friends wedding and had a lot of fun into the night.:)_

_Because some beta's are as awesome as to be able to make corrections even in wifi-less parts of the world._

_For my sis, who knows only too well the Beckett side of the story. Hon, just remember the next time I am not picking up the phone? Occam's razor, okay?_

**CASTLE AND BECKETT**

"A week," she says, her eyes and voice full of hesitance, uneasiness, and ill-disguised apology.

He sighs, squeezes his eyes shut, blocking out the image of her face, regretful and concerned. Gates is sending her away. For a week. To Philadelphia, for some stupid cop training, regulations, and lot of other stuff he isn't really interested in. Because what's currently occupying his mind is the single thought of what he will do without her for so long.

"Maybe you could call Alexis. I'm sure she wouldn't mind spending the week at home with you," she suggests. "And there's always your mother," she adds and he knows, _knows_ she's just trying to help, but really? His _mother_? No way.

And that applies to Alexis, too, no matter how much things have changed now that she knows about his…problems. He knows his daughter wouldn't hesitate a minute, would pack up a bag and come home at once. One call would do. But he just can't do that, can't stomach the thought of calling his daughter to watch over his sleep, to be there for him when he wakes from his nightmares. Just because Kate can't. Yeah, that's really pathetic.

There'd been a talk between the two women behind the closed doors of his study, the day after Alexis had rather unfortunately learned of his unorthodox sleeping habits. And though neither of them had been willing to share the contents of that talk with him, it had certainly seemed to set things on the right track again. Later in the week, they'd even managed to all spend a pleasant meal together, the three of them along with his mother, and since then, he could tell that Kate felt somehow more at ease at his loft. Maybe she'd just needed a blessing of sorts from his family. He'd probably never know the whole story, but she seemed more content and free in his home now, for which he was very, very grateful. He'd even caught the two of them on the phone the other night, Kate quietly laughing into the receiver at something Alexis was saying to her, and the sound had warmed his insides.

So he understands Kate's suggestion when she brings it up, knows her to be more than capable of taking it upon herself to ask Alexis if he can't find the courage to do so, yet that would be even more humiliating. He just _won't_ ask his daughter or his mother. Period.

"I don't think so. But maybe this is a good thing. A _chance._ To try and tackle this on my own, you know," he finally says in a fumbling voice, and at the worry which flashes across her face he quickly adds, "At least_ try. _And if I'm not okay, then I'll call someone, Alexis or Mother or…someone, okay?"

He looks at her, emotions torn in half, willing her not to push this. He's not lying, not exactly. And yeah, he needs to try to be on his own, eventually. Despite the fact that they both know he still lacks control over his nightmares. True, they've gotten considerably better over the past few weeks – easier to deal with and less frequent. But they're still there, terrifying and haunting and he really isn't prepared to face them in the confusing darkness of the night all on his own quite yet, despite his brave words.

He sees the conflict raging in her eyes, too, knows her own thoughts are flowing in the same direction as his, that if there was any way around this predicament, this week in Philly, any way whatsoever, she would have found it. And it makes him ashamed. Because he doesn't want this, doesn't want to put this burden on her, make it even heavier than it already is. She has a right to go whenever and wherever she pleases, _without_ having to worry about what she'll be leaving in her wake.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath before the panic gets a stronger grip of him, already bubbling dangerously close to the surface.

He can do this. What would his therapist say? That this was the perfect opportunity to test himself, a realistic challenge to see how much progress he's actually made. Yes, he'd probably say exactly what Castle himself had just said: that this wasthe ideal chance to find out whether he's able to tackle his issues on his own. He just…he just doesn't really feel up to it yet. Still, it looks like he doesn't have much of a choice.

He forces himself to opens his eyes and regard Kate steadily. He can see it all – the despair in her eyes, that torn expression. And all of a sudden, he feels calm. He can do this, he _will_ do this. For her, for him, for them. A warm smile splits his face and he notices that it catches her by surprise. _Good_.

"But you know what, Kate? I will be okay," he says firmly, and it's such a nice change, to be the one who's reassuring for once. It's a good feeling. It feels familiar, like a glimpse of his old self, even if he's not quite there yet. Because deep down, he knows he doesn't mean the words, not at _all_, wanting nothing else but to reach out with his hand, grab her by the shoulder and keep her close, to beg her to stay with him because there is absolutely no way he can do this without her.

"I'm sure it'll be fine, Kate," he assures her again, for good measure, and he hates the doubt he sees in her eyes. Doubt he put there himself. By being so dependant.

And it's exactly this reason why he hasn't made any advances on her lately, because of the uneven equation, a natural equilibrium missing from their mutual relationship at the moment. And he needs that as much as she does, knows it to be an absolute necessity if he wants a true chance at a healthy relationship with her. So he sits, gulps down the panic rising in his throat and forces his nerves to calm as he stretches his legs out in front of him, sending Kate an encouraging smile.

"It's gonna be fine."

xxx

She tells him, over and over again, not to hesitate to call her, any time of night or day, assuring him that she's going to be available no matter what. He smiles at her again, though he feels slightly sick at the moment, having her over just to say goodbye before she leaves for Philly.

He can't help but think how his loft will be so damn quiet without her. He hadn't really thought about it until now, how he'd gotten used to her presence, a solid part in his life, so easily. But he has to do this, more importantly, he _can_ do this. His therapist has reassured him he can, and so has Kate, although he's not sure whether she meant it or whether it was just her wishful thinking talking. But he has the means, knows what to do in case of a panic attack, and there's nothing left to do but find the courage to actually _try_.

"Don't worry, Kate. I've got an Xbox, hundreds of TV channels, Internet and a full home library at my hands in case I need a distraction." For a second, he finds it highly funny that he is the one doing the comforting, that _he_ is the one to tell Kate it's going to be okay, since _he_ is the one with the actual problem. But then he sees the tenderness in her eyes, the care, those overwhelming feelings she harbors towards him that he still has a hard time accepting, and he becomes serious at once.

She's standing at his door, ready to leave, and a flash of sudden panic and despair steals across her face. Surprisingly, he knows just what to do to appease her.

He kisses her. Slowly, tenderly. The touch of their lips is soft and warm and oh so delicate, but over way too soon. But the kiss fulfills its purpose, because when he withdraws from her, he sees surprise and mirth in her face, quiet happiness dancing in her eyes. He hasn't kissed her like this in weeks. And it feels so damn good. He may not be ready for the whole deal just yet, but the kiss…yeah, the kiss feels right.

She squeezes his upper arm then gives him a tight smile. "Call me," she says, _demands _really, and then she's out his door. He sighs into the silence of his loft, wishing it were already a week later.

xxx

His first night goes well. More then well, actually – he sleeps completely through. He feels rested and more than a little proud of himself in the morning, boasts about it during his therapy later that day.

He's sure he won't be that lucky the second night around, though. But, oddly enough, he still doesn't wake from nightmares as usual. He swims to consciousness only once during the early hours of the morning, slightly confused and disorientated from a bad dream, but he can't remember the specifics. He gets out of his bed, uses the bathroom and retrieves a glass of water from the kitchen before returning to the bed. He cuddles under the covers, sighing. He misses her. Not just in his bed, but in his loft, his life. He misses her presence, the teasing, their laughter. He misses reading books together, or sharing a late night meal, even her eye-rolling over his favorite cop movies. Yet he doesn't call her, priding himself on being so strong and independent, so _good_.

It's _her_ who calls first, on the third day. She's anxious, he can hear it in her tone, eager to talk and listen to him, to his voice. They discuss Philadelphia, her job, his huge success in sleeping through two nights in a row, alone and fine. It's quite a pathetic victory, but she doesn't seem to mind; on the contrary, she shares his enthusiasm. He even thinks he can hear a faint tinge of pride in her voice.

"I miss you," she utters after a moment of silence, a sudden lull in their conversation. Her open admission steals his breath away and he has to force the lump to pass down his throat before he can answer her.

"I miss you, too. The loft is really quiet without you," he admits, realizing this is the closest to a conversation about _them_ that they've had in weeks. She doesn't seem to mind the switch in intimacy as he listens to her quiet breathing on the other end of the line. It takes a moment before their conversation picks up again after that.

Of course it has to happen on that stupid third night, just as he's starting to believe that things are maybe finally getting better for him. He wakes just after the clock strikes two a.m., drenched in sweat and rasping Kate's name as his arms fruitlessly roam through the sheets next to him in a desperate search for her. The bed is empty, though, and it takes him a full five agonizing minutes plus more than a few shameful and panicked tears rolling down his cheeks before he finally realizes it was all just dreams. Stupid, _stupid_ dreams. Because Kate is okay, she's fine and alive, albeit hundreds of miles away in Philadelphia.

But he has to make sure.

His hand is already groping his bedside table and gripping his phone tightly in his fingers before his mind has a chance to catch up with what he's told him to call her, any time of day or night, for any reason his heart going at over a hundred and ninety for thinking she was dead again counts as reason enough to call her, right? He scrolls down his long list, finally finding her number. He's about to hit the dial button when a thought stops him.

He can't. He shouldn't.

This is…this would not help. Calling her is not a fix, it's merely a band-aid. And this …he can't do this himself, yet he _has_ to do this himself, has to be the person he_ used_ to be once again. And he cannot be that if he keeps on calling her for comfort every time he stumbles on his way.

He drops the phone onto the sheets, beaten, groaning in despair as he buries his face into the cradle of his hands.

_He wants Kate. God, he just wants Kate. Why would it be so bad to call her?_

He gets resolutely out of bed, walking out of his bedroom and into the kitchen, determined _not_ to call. Determined to be strong, to be the man he wants to be. Not just for her, but for _him_. A reliable father for his daughter, a good son to his mother. He yanks the fridge open, pours himself a glass of juice, forces it down his throat even as the images from his nightmare still flash behind his closed eyelids, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

There is no way he can return to his bed now, not with his dreams still so vivid in his mind's eye, his bed so obviously, painfully empty. Cold.

_Dammit, he wants _Kate.

He contemplates switching on the TV, but there's no way he could concentrate. He pads to his study instead, sits down behind his desk and opens his laptop. His mind is still full of Kate – Kate dead, Kate tortured, Kate mutilated – as his computer boots, but he wills those images back and away into the far recesses of his mind even as his hands keep on shaking, his insides quivering with the sheer mental effort of it all. Droplets of perspiration start to form on his forehead as he desperately searches his mind for a topic, something, _anything_, that might offer the least bit of distraction. He just needs to…

_He just needs Kate._

He Google's Philadelphia, his eyes roaming pictures of streets, monuments, historical sights, hotels and accommodations, even famous people. He gets lost in the pictures, imagines Kate there on those streets, stopping here and there, for coffee or a bagel, looking over the Schuylkill River, walking through a park or gazing into shopping windows.

And God help him, it actually makes him feel better. After about half an hour, though the time seems much, _much_ longer, he finally finds himself relaxing, his hands flying less erratically over the keyboard, his fingers less slippery and jittery over the keys. He finds he actually likes Philadelphia. He wonders what the PD is like over there, reminds himself to ask Kate when he talks with her next. He wonders if Nikki would like Philadelphia too.

Nikki in Philly. Kind of cute.

But no, Nikki is nowhere near Philly right now. Nikki is currently still recovering from Rook's death at a ranch somewhere in Kentucky. Damn, he really did a butcher's job with her character, didn't he? _I mean, c'mon, Rick_, _a horse ranch?_ No mysteries to solve? Nikki would go crazy after a week there. Rook's character would never let her live that one down. If he were alive, that is. But why isn't he? What's stopping him? He, Castle, is the author of the book series after all. And he can rewrite the ending as much as he'd like. Or if not rewrite the ending, then at least write a new beginning, for Nikki and Rook. _For him and Kate._

Before he consciously knows what he's doing, he's already opened up a new word document, his fingers flying over the keys effortlessly.

Sun is streaming through the blinds by the time he closes the laptop, feeling exhausted yet accomplished. He's typed up all he wanted to about Philly, along with the emotional scene of Nikki and Rook reuniting. It's still a draft, still a rather choppy version, but it will serve as a nice foundation for later, when he does the edits.

He leans back in his chair, pulling his arms out and over his head, his spine giving a rather loud crack. His eyes feel like sandpaper as he rubs the balls of his fists over them. He's dead tired and emotionally drained, yet highly content somehow. And not a single thought of his nightmares is left in his mind. He crawls back into his bed in the early morning hours, falling deeply asleep even before his head has the chance to hit the pillow.

His phone wakes him some time later, the shrill sound of his ringing tune pulling him up from slumber.

"Yeah?" he mumbles into the receiver, not bothering to look at the caller ID.

"Castle?" She sounds surprised. "You okay?"

An instant smile tugs at the corners of his mouth at the sound of her voice. "Hey! Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Just sleeping."

"At two in the afternoon?" she asks, clicking her tongue in mock displeasure before her voice grows softer. "Did you have trouble sleeping last night?"

"Umm…" he falters, thinking hard as to what to tell her, how much to reveal.

"Just tell me the truth, please," she utters, her voice gaining on a new, sad tilt. He doesn't want to hear it, though, not now when he feels actually so _good_.

"I woke up from some nightmares, yeah. But I did manage to fall asleep after a couple of hours. And I'm feeling really good, Kate, I swear," he assures.

"Okay," she grants him with a deep sigh and he's glad she appears to take his word for it. "What did you do then?" she asks conversationally.

'When?" he asks, his brow furrowing.

"During the night, when you couldn't sleep," she explains and he has to suppress a grin because he can almost see her rolling her eyes at the other end of the line.

"Ahh. I…I watched some television," he replies nonchalantly, wincing slightly at his lie. He doesn't want to be dishonest with her, not ever again, but he just…he doesn't really know _why_ he doesn't tell her that he's been writing, just knows that he doesn't want to share it just yet. Maybe because it might have been just a one-time occurrence, maybe he might not open that document ever again, and maybe he just wants to give it a couple of days, test the waters so to speak, see if he'll want to write more.

"Anything good?" she asks and he can hear she's trying hard to keep the conversation going, since he's being so unresponsive.

"Yeah, actually, it was a fun sci-fi movie. Alien invasion with lots of little green men and flying saucers. My favorite kind," he quickly invents, her responding chuckle vibrating warmly through his chest.

"Of course it is."

He steers the conversation to her after that, and they talk some more about her training, the people she's met, the places she's seen, the coffee that seems so 'different'. And he doesn't forget to ask her about the Philadelphia PD, more than a little curious. It feels nice.

xxx

"So when exactly are you flying in tomorrow?" It's Saturday afternoon and he's sitting at his desk, his laptop finally shut off, his eyes burning after several hours spent gazing at his computer, hunched over his first draft of the latest Nikki Heat book. He's really shocked to find himself a third of the way into the book already, has nearly forgotten how good it feels.

"Around four p.m.," she says, "if everything goes according to plan."

"You'll probably be tired then," he says, posing it more as a question. He knows the exact moment she catches on to his probing tone, her interest now piqued.

"Not particularly. Why?"

"No reason." He pretends to quickly brush it off, but she's already bitten the bait.

"What is it, Castle? Spill," she commands, mirth and challenge audible in her voice. He smiles into the phone, loves the lightness with which they talk to one another these days.

"I was kind of hoping to take you out to dinner somewhere." He hears the slightest, nervous intake of breath on the other end of the line before he quickly hastens to add, "Nothing fancy or big, no need for dressing up. Just dinner somewhere, you know, to catch up." He holds his breath while he waits for her answer.

"That sounds…nice. Yeah, I'd really like that," she agrees after a beat and something in his chest swells. "I could definitely use the time off. Hey, here's a thought: maybe we could ask the boys and Lanie to come meet us later in The Old Haunt. What do you think?" she suggests on an excited breath.

He hesitates. "I…I was hoping it could be just the two of us. You know…" he stutters slightly, "like a date."

There's silence at the other end, then: "A date?"

"Yeah, a date," he confirms, starting to wonder if it was a bad idea, but then she lets out this beautiful, startled, joyful laugh, and he knows, he _knows_ it was the right thing to do.

"Richard Castle, are you asking me out on a date?" she questions, all ease and delight, her soft laughter tinkling in his ear.

"Yes, I am. Will you come?" he asks in a voice that's more than a little hopeful.

"Actually, I'd love to," she says softly. After a beat, she adds in a warning tone, "But nothing too fancy, promise?"

He chuckles at that. "Nothing fancy, I promise," he assures her.

"Alright then. It's a date," she confirms softly, and his heart nearly bursts in his chest with joy.

TBC

_Okay, we are nearing to the end of the story, only a chapter or two left. What do you guys think? Gonna miss me? ;)_


	25. Chapter 24 Kate and Rick

_Okay, okay, I knooow it's been a terrible wait, but this time, I have one to blame that's not me, it goes totally on the head on my beta Nik, who decided it would be fun to travel the whole wide world (literally!) and couldn't get to the beta-ing, and I didn't want to send the chapter out without her going through it, cause it definitely needs her comb. _

_Anyway, though it was definitely worth it, it's totally **her** to blame for the long wait, send all of your hate-mail to her. She's a strong girl, she can take it. *winks at Nik*_

_Now, on to the chapter. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. :)_

**KATE AND RICK**

She'd much rather have traveled by car or train, but the NYPD had handled the arrangement of her transportation, and, of course, they'd managed to make everything harder and more complicated than it necessarily needed to be. Which is why she currently finds herself in an over-crowded airport arrivals hall.

The baggage claim carousel assigned to her flight – and about three other flights as well – is completely obscured from view by the impatient mob of waiting, weary travelers, but she eventually manages to squeeze through the masses to reach the steadily spinning luggage belt and retrieve her small suitcase. She really cannot grasp who in their right mind would be _flying_ back from Philly – _except of course NYPD officers, obviously, because why make their lives easier, right?_ – and on a Sunday afternoon no less. Yet this is New York, one of the busiest cities on Earth, so naturally the airport _has _to be packed, with everyone and their mother clearly intent on getting in her way and making her late on the one single day she'd actually like to be a little early.

Although the flight had only been an hour long, she hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, and she feels wrecked. Her hair is disheveled and her skin tired, her make-up slightly smudged after the short nap she managed during her flight. She'd hoped to get a chance to regroup and freshen up a little before she went to meet Castle, wanting to look nice or at least acceptable after a whole week of absence, but this luxury seems to be denied her. She'd promised to call him the moment she touched ground, but it had already been five p.m. when her plane had slowly bellied up to the gate. Okay, so yeah, she'd been a little optimistic when she'd promised him four p.m., but the hour-long delay and the ensuing mayhem at the airport have caused her not to be a little but actually a _lot_ late.

She grabs her bag from the belt, blowing a few loose strands of hair which have escaped her bun away from her face. The purple blouse she's wearing is slightly askew, crinkled and probably a bit smelly, too – God, she's a mess. Her father's watch is off kilter as well, the face of it resting against the inside of her wrist, so she has to twist her hand at an impossible angle to peer at the numbers.

Quarter after five. Spectacular.

She digs in her pants pocket for her cell phone as she makes her way back out of the crowd, bag slung over her back, purse hanging from her forearm. She switches on the device – first chance she's had up until now – and hastily types in her password.

Three missed calls and two message alerts blink on the screen. The missed calls are all from the precinct, but she won't be returning them right now; she has the day off after all. The first of the text messages is from Lanie, welcoming her home, and the corner of her lips tug upward at the sweet gesture from her friend. The next message is from Castle, _finally_, and her heart flutters in her chest at the sight of the familiar ID.

_Hey Kate, can't get a hold of you, probably still in air. Can't wait to see you again. xxx Rick_

She smiles, pocketing her phone as she juggles her bags. Appearances be damned, she's getting out of here and taking the first taxi to his place, or wherever he wants to meet her, and she's gonna hug and kiss the crap out of him.

She feels her pocket vibrate with an incoming call and she briefly considers letting it go straight to voicemail, but she can't help her curiosity. Sure enough, the name that flashes on the screen when she extracts the obnoxiously shrill device out of her pocket is the only one she really wants to see right now, and it makes her smile grow.

"Hey. Impatient, aren't you?" she chirps into the phone on a laugh, which is more breathless that she'd like to admit.

"Where are you?" Not beating around the bush. Good, she likes that. Just the sound of his voice makes her insides quiver with longing. _Damn_.

"LaGuardia."

"I know, but _where_?"

Momentarily puzzled, she answers nonetheless. "Arrivals hall."

"Terminal D?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Okay, stop on the spot and don't move for a minute, will you?" He doesn't wait for an answer though, hanging up almost before he gets the last word out.

She stops in her tracks, looking down at the display on her phone in confusion, then back up, turning around to peer through the masses of people surrounding her. And sure enough, there's the familiar figure of a man with shiny brown hair and broad shoulders, his gait an awkward half-run as he tries to maneuver his way through the thick crowd. Her heart skips a beat in her chest, her whole body sagging with a strong mixture of relief, familiarity and warmth. A feeling of homecoming.

He's only a couple of steps away from her now, that huge, hearty grin that makes his eyes crinkle in the corners lighting his whole face and before she can think twice about what she's doing, she's dropping her bag and stretching out her arms towards him, catching his bulky frame in a bone-crushing hug. Her face buries itself into the crook of his neck, the familiar scent washing over her, the feelings it evokes overwhelming her completely.

_Castle. _

"Welcome home," he hums into her ear, pulling her against him even tighter. "I thought I'd lost you there in the crowd. Delayed flight?" he asks when they finally disentangle, withdrawing just far enough to look at each other, although neither seems willing to take their hands off the other.

She just nods, still unable to talk, still dazed by the feel of him, by his strong presence. By how much she apparently missed him. It's a new, unknown emotion that sweeps over her, takes her by surprise. A feeling that might have once terrified her, but not anymore. Because this is Castle, the person she trusts most in this world, with her life as well as her heart.

She kisses him, then and there, in the arrivals hall of LaGuardia. She kisses him deep and hard and needy, for once abandoning her caution, for once just taking what she wants, what she needs. And he doesn't hesitate for a second as he seizes her in his arms, kissing her back with abandon, his tongue pushing past her lips, stroking and exploring the depths of her mouth.

God, it feels good. Feels right. Feels better like anything she's ever wanted.

They take a moment, gradually slowing the kiss until merely their lips are touching, moist and warm and sweet. She waits a beat, won't open her eyes. She misses his lips already, and she can't help sneaking another taste of him as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, savoring the last remnants of him on her tongue. Only then does she open her eyes.

She kissed him. And it wasn't a mistake by the looks of it, because he's looking at her in that heated way which makes her heart flutter in her chest, with that spark which ignites the impossible blue of his irises, with that trademark boyish smile which melts her, inside and out. He looks young, so young when he smiles like that. She grins back.

His hands are resting on her elbows, holding her close, his posture radiating strength and confidence. So very different than the man she left behind only a week ago. She can't help but marvel at the sudden change in him. He looks good, really good. Rested, calm, and more like his old self, light and upbeat, a Castle she hasn't seen in a long time, since before…well, all of it. She brings him in for another hug, and she knows that she's surprised him with her sudden burst of unhinged affection because it takes him a second before he hugs her back. But she can't help herself.

"I missed you," she whispers into the shell of his ear, then secretly smiles when she feels him shiver against her. _Good_.

"Wanna get out of here? Get some food?" he asks, his voice slightly shaky as he tries to win back his composure. Her smile merely grows.

"Is that how you ask a girl out on a date, Castle?" she teases, clicking her tongue with mock disapproval, which manages to lure a broad smile from his lips.

"I though you weren't that kind of girl," he shoots back, mischief sparking in his eyes. She shrugs nonchalantly, closing the gap between them on a seemingly careless sigh, plastering her front to his, completely ignoring their surroundings, the people passing them by, hurrying in and out of the airport, reuniting with families or friends.

"That depends, Castle," she purrs into his ear, feels another shiver run through his body. "How about you feed me and we'll see from there?"

xxx

They hold hands in the cab the whole ride, quietly talking, smiling, touching. She still cannot believe the change in him. He appears so…_open_. Open and unguarded. She loves it, but she doesn't dare call him out on it just yet, doesn't want to spook him with an outright question.

He takes her to a tiny Italian place in Lower Manhattan that she's never heard of before. There are only a couple of tables, the atmosphere welcoming and intimate. It's not fancy really, just nice, and she's glad that he's kept his word to keep it simple, so she doesn't have to feel awkward for the crinkles in her blouse or the overall mess of her appearance.

He leads her to a table in the far corner of the place, securely navigating them through the narrow space with his hand spread low on her back. Once seated, the waiter brings the menus but doesn't hover, discreetly disappearing again and Beckett can see why Castle's picked this place. There are a couple of other patrons sitting at the nearby tables, but no one appears to pay them any attention. She also notices that most of the other guests are couples, like them, some holding hands, some conspiratorially whispering over the tops of their tables. She bites her lip, cannot help the pleasure which spills through her chest, color flooding her cheeks.

It's really a date, a proper one. He definitely wants to romance her. And suddenly she's nothing more than a bundle of nerves, nervous and giddy and flustered all at once. She has to remind herself to breathe.

Their waiter comes back with two glasses of water then takes their orders. She's glad for the dim lighting, because her cheeks are still flaming and Castle's eyes haven't left hers since they sat down. He doesn't give as much as a glance at the menu, simply orders the same dish she does, Penne all'arrabbiata, with a bottle of Merlot to go with it.

A small grin escapes her lips once their food is brought and Castle digs in without a second thought, bringing a huge bite to his mouth and then nearly choking at the sudden spicy taste of the chili peppers. He grabs for his glass of water, gulping down the liquid rather ungracefully as he spats and spurts like an irritated cat.

"What the…" he chokes out, eyeing the food suspiciously through half-lidded, watery eyes.

She laughs. Serves him right for not making his own choices. "Too _hot_ for you, Castle?" she teases playfully, taking a small portion of the sauce along with the pasta onto her fork and pushing it into her mouth. Oh yes, there's that delicious, spicy taste she loves so much. A low hum escapes from deep down in her throat and she closes her eyes, savoring the flavor. When she opens them again, she's met with a pair of blue orbs that are partly glaring, partly smoldering at her.

"You are a wicked, _wicked_ woman, Kate Beckett," he chastises in a dangerously low voice, luring another throaty chuckle from her.

"Should have picked your own food," she accuses mischievously, thoroughly enjoying herself. All of her previous fatigue, all of her exhaustion from the trip, has magically fallen away, the thoughts of Philadelphia and the police department and the precinct and work and all of it left outside the doors of this small Italian restaurant where she is currently tucked blissfully away with Castle.

Her look grows soft as she regards him, suddenly unable to help her wonder. "You look good," she utters. "Really, really good."

"I feel good." He tells her, his eyes dancing with gentle mirth as he gazes at her.

"Been doing okay?" she asks, knowing the answer already from their phone conversations, but wanting to talk about it in person anyway.

He nods, giving her a small smile even as his face grows more somber. "I still have the dreams sometimes, but I'm much better at managing them." He takes the stem of his glass of Merlot between his fingers, circles the red liquid, observing it thoughtfully.

"I'm-" she starts, desperately wanting to tell him how proud she is of him, but somehow, it doesn't sound suitable, so she settles for: "…really impressed. You did it, Castle. In such a short time. I'm really…" She stops again, the words not quite making it past her tongue. She tries to convey what she's not able to say to him with her eyes at least, putting all of the tenderness, the warmth, the emotions she feels whenever they're together, into that single gaze for him to see. It's too much and not at all enough, but it will have to do.

There's a lull in their conversation as she regards him calmly, bringing her hand up slowly to meet his across the table. His palm slides home against hers as their fingers entwine in an achingly familiar way. And then he just smiles, seemingly unable to hide his joy at the reality of finally being on a date with her. She's having trouble properly hiding it herself.

"I found a good coping mechanism," he tells her, his eyes twinkling at her mysteriously over the table, a small grin tugging at his lips.

"You gonna tell me about it, or is it a secret?" She goes for playful, despite her curiosity. He shakes his head, a knowing smile playing across his features. He must have caught on to her huge interest in this particular subject then. Damn.

"Later," he says quietly, brushing his thumb up to stroke her wrist reassuringly, oblivious to the fact that his touch is merely making her more restless, causing her to shift slightly in her seat. After another moment of intense scrutiny on his part, which makes her cheeks go flaming red once again – _damn you, Castle! –_ he nods in the direction of her still rather full plate. "Let me feed you first, Kate. It looks like the Philly PD let you starve."

She laughs then, unable to fully wipe that grin from her face as they continue to eat in silence, their hands still linked together over the table.

xxx

He orders dessert: chocolate mousse with raspberry sauce and cream. It's delicious, but not quite as delicious as the predatory looks he's been throwing her throughout the evening. Yes, something's definitely changed over the course of the past week, but she can't quite figure out what, only that he seems to be more confident, more bold. More decisive in both what he wants and in letting her _know_ exactly what that is.

It makes her shiver to the core.

The waiter takes away their plates and now it's just the two of them with the nearly empty bottle of Merlot. She's feeling the slight buzz in her veins, the relaxed tinge in her extremities, her thoughts swirling lazily in her head. She's spent the last minute in a staring match with Castle, holding his eyes with her own and daring him to look away first. But he never so much as blinks and she's shocked to find that _she's_ the one who cannot hold the intensity of his gaze any longer.

"What's changed?" she asks, the words tumbling from her mouth rather ungracefully, but she can't _not_ ask. She wishes she could blame it on the wine, a mere slip of her tongue, but she can't even say she's sorry. Still, she knows she should clarify. "I just…" She lifts her eyes to his again. "You seem different."

She winces a bit at her own words, and he raises his eyebrows at her, clearly enjoying her battle with proper phrasing. "I mean that in a good sense. You just, you look so self-confident." His eyebrows climb higher and she wants to kick herself, or maybe him, for not helping her out here. He must know that she's having a hard time explaining herself, not to mention the added difficulty of the wine flowing through her system and the fact that his ridiculously blue eyes have been burning holes through her all night.

_Damn him_.

"I like it," she finally mumbles, her eyes falling shut for a brief moment. Okay, not her smoothest move, but to hell with it. When she looks back up he's still smiling, and then his smirk actually grows, if that's even possible, and it starts to annoy her, that knowing twinkle in his eye, it starts to annoy her a great deal. But it thrills her at the same time, because this is _Castle._ The man she loves to hate and the man she hates to love. Not that she can help it. Not that she'd even want to.

He contemplates her for another moment, his thumb still drawing maddening patterns over her skin, and then his face grows more serious, still gentle, but solemn, his eyes slightly shiny. It seems he's decided to put her out of her misery. About damn time. "It has to do with that coping mechanism I told you about," he starts, waiting for her answering nod before continuing.

"The third night after you left for Philadelphia, I realized how much I missed you. I woke up that night from the nightmares." Her heart drops a little in her chest and she watches his eyes fall to the table, his previous confidence momentarily disappearing from his face. "I couldn't concentrate on anything, couldn't go back to sleep, had images of you…" his voice trembles, "…_dying_ at the forefront of my mind, the whole the time."

An audible sigh leaves her lips, her heart aching for him. She flicks their hands over, and it's her turn to stroke his skin now, in support, urging him to continue.

"I went to my computer, desperate for something to do. And I started Googling Philadelphia." He looks a bit embarrassed about this part of his confession, his gaze avoiding hers and digging into his nearly empty wine glass instead. "So I could feel closer to you."

She closes her eyes. "I shouldn't have left," she whispers, but the sudden twitch and tug of his hand on hers causes her eyes to snap back open immediately, green locking onto blue across the table.

"No. No, Kate," he says, shaking his head. "It was a good thing." His voice is full of steady conviction which she herself is not feeling. He must see the doubt in her eyes because he picks up their joined hands from the table, presses a soft kiss to her knuckles. "It made me realize I have to do it on my own, have to learn to cope with them somehow, rather then just run away or hide from them."

_Them. The dreams, the nightmares._

He falls silent, regarding her for a moment, his eyes shining a tad too brightly in the shimmering light of the single lamp illuminating their table.

"Anyway…" He clears his throat. "The Google searches got me thinking…and my thoughts inadvertently led to Nikki, and how badly I screwed up that last book."

Her heart skips a beat. _Last book_? Does that mean he's considering writing more?

Her mind is still whirling with thoughts as he starts to rummage through his bag – _where the hell did that come from?_ – and then he pulls out a small stack of papers bound together by an elastic band, pushing them across the table towards her.

"For you," he murmurs unnecessarily. Her heart races wildly as she picks up the papers and turns them over tentatively. She already knows, _hopes_ she knows what they are. Her hands start to shake when she sees the first page.

_Reborn Heat – Chapter One_

"I'm still working on the details of the case, and I'm only about halfway through, and it's just a really rough first draft, but this – this one part – is completely finished, will stay _exactly_ this way." She hears the words, hears the emotion and certainty behind them, but she's unable to even look at him, is having trouble properly breathing, her eyes welling up with tears.

So this is his coping mechanism? Continuing the _Heat _series? Writing, and out of all the possible characters and ideas, writing _Nikki_ again?

"Castle, I…it's…" She hates herself today, so spectacularly at a loss for words.

"I hope you don't mind me snooping around in your life again," he says and she snaps her eyes from the papers back up to his.

"You hope I don't _mind_?" she cries, her voice thin and more than a little hysterical, its loudness momentarily booming into the silence of the restaurant. A couple nearby looks over at them admonishingly and she immediately lowers her tone.

"Castle, this is…it's...I don't know what to say. I'm…touched." _Honored, happy, thrilled _and_ smitten_ are what she really wants to say.

He smiles at her, looks elated, actually elated that _she_ doesn't mind that _he_ is writing again, that he's coping, that he's getting his bearings back. He really is a crazy man sometimes.

She stands from her seat, bends over the table and presses a warm kiss to his lips.

"Thank you," she whispers against his skin, her hand staying at the back of his head, fingers gently stroking through his hair. It's a silly thing to say to him – _thank you_ – so inadequate, but she's fresh out of fancy vocabulary. Still, he seems to understand.

"You're welcome, Kate."

xxx

They're standing on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. Dinner was lovely and she had a wonderful time, which makes her even more reluctant to part ways with him just yet. She doesn't want to go home, doesn't want to sleep in her empty bed, alone. So when Castle tentatively asks her if she'd like to come over to his place for coffee, she eagerly, maybe even a little too eagerly, agrees.

Their fingers are intertwined in the back seat of the cab as the car glides through the busy Manhattan streets. The hand that's not holding Castle's clutches the first chapter of his new novel. _God, a new Nikki Heat book._ She was so afraid she'd never read anything new of his ever again. And here she is, the first person to see the introduction to Nikki's latest installment. She hasn't read it yet, not even a single sentence, despite her enormous curiosity. There will be plenty of time for that later, she tells herself, choosing to narrow her focus to the man, the _author_, sitting next to her instead.

He'd been so sweet, so charming and confident throughout the whole evening. So much like his old self. And he'd been flirting with her the entire time, teasing and seductive, wielding his words like a weapon, in the most elegant way. He's always been good with his words, of course, but even knowing this hasn't helped her; she's totally fallen for it, fallen for it willingly, on every level. She's missed this side of him, this sexy, innuendo-filled, enticing side of him. And she's not immune to it. Not at all.

God, she wants him. _So badly._

He's been sending her signals the entire night, through his looks, through his touch, in the tone of his voice as well as his words. And he's taking her to his place now. She doesn't want to be presumptuous, she really doesn't, but the thought is still there, at the forefront of her mind. The why of it, the reason he's asked her over. Because she thinks she knows. And God, she wants to be right, she _so very much_ wants to be right.

xxx

The loft is dark and quiet when they arrive.

"Mother's out," he explains, switching on the lights and helping her out of her coat. She can't control the flutter of nervous anticipation which ripples through her at his words. She might be reading too much into this, he might just be simply being nice. But she doesn't want him to be just_ nice_. She wants him to seduce her, to take her to his bed and have his way with her, for a very long time, all night in fact, and she's not entirely sure what kind of person that makes her. Yeah, a horny one, that's for sure.

He leads her to the couch, his hand resting on her lower back and nearly burning a hole through the thin material of her blouse. Damn, this is _not_ good, the train of thought she is currently engaged in. It's going to make her do something utterly stupid, she knows it, but she's still powerless to stop the scenarios which are wreaking havoc in her mind. She wants him with an intensity she has never wanted anybody before.

He gestures for her to sit down on the couch but he doesn't join her, looking extremely nervous all of a sudden. She extends her hand to catch his, to reassure and anchor him, but her heart sinks when he claps his palms together, effectively evading her attempt to touch and connect, turning on the balls of his feet and making a quick exit to the kitchen instead.

"I'm gonna put on some coffee," he chirps over his shoulder at her, going for nonchalant. If not for the slight jump in his every step, she might have believed it.

_What the hell do you think you're doing, Castle? _

No, no he doesn't get to pull this right now. Her heart hammers in her chest as she leaps to her feet, following him silently into the kitchen. She doesn't know what she's going to do, just knows that she doesn't want to let him retract and hide in his insecurities again. He's been _so_ confident throughout this whole evening. She doesn't want him, _them_, to lose that.

He's busying himself with the coffee machine, concentrating so hard he doesn't hear her approach. Only when he turns to retrieve some mugs from the cabinet does he realize she's standing directly behind him, her proximity making him jump and release a small yelp. Under different circumstances, Kate might have laughed.

"I don't want coffee," she states flatly, her face just inches away from his own. She can see the confusion in his eyes.

"O-kay." He slowly says. "You don't want coffee," he parrots, looking a little clueless, a little bewildered as she shakes her head at him.

"What do you want then?" he asks.

She normally wouldn't do this, under any circumstances. It's too revealing, exposes too much, puts too much leverage into his hands. It means showing her cards, laying it all on the table, offering up her hopes and desires. She'd be _asking_ for something, and that's not what Kate Beckett does. Ever. Because it might get her hurt. But she saw it, earlier today, in his whole being – the want. The lust which mirrors her own. So she takes a leap, holds her breath, prays to whatever deity there is that she's read him correctly, that she's not ruining everything with this single, selfish, bold move.

She looks at him, directly into his eyes, putting it all out there for him to see, then does that little trick of hers, flicking her gaze down to his lips and up again, her tongue coming out to lick her bottom lip, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"_You._"

It takes him a few agonizingly slow seconds to catch on to her meaning, but then he does, and his eyes darken, nearly lose all of their color. And then it's done. He crashes his lips down onto hers, forceful and firm, and heat starts to lick at her insides, making her legs go weak as he spins them around, pinning her against the counter. His lips tear from hers to trail down her neck, then up again, his hands burning trails along every inch of her they can reach, and it feels so good, so long overdue, and so damn familiar. They have exactly one night of memories to compare this to, and yet it still feels like the single most natural thing they've ever done.

His hands skim her sides, pulling at her shirt before disappearing beneath the fabric, and she gasps when the pads of his fingers come into contact with the bare skin of her stomach. She squeezes his arms, slides her own around his shoulders, anchors herself to him with her lips at his ear. Her teeth tug at the soft flesh of his lobe and she has a hard time catching her breath.

"Castle," she moans, feels his hips jerk into her. "Castle," she repeats, completely unable to voice her request for him to take her to bed, because no matter how hard she tries, not a sound manages to squeeze pass her lips besides the soft, familiar syllables of his name.

It doesn't matter in the end, whether she says it out aloud or not. He hears her anyway.

TBC

_Surprisingly, there is one more chapter to come before the epilogue. Hopefully, you won't have to wait for it this long. ;) _


	26. Chapter 25 Them

_HAH! I betcha you didn't expect to see another chapter posted within the next 24 hours, huh? How awesome am I now, huh? ;)_

_This chapter is for all of you wonderful people who've been reading, following and reviewing this story from the very beginning right up till now._

_It's been a wonderful and most enjoyable journey and you have all been awesome. When I started writing the story, I had hoped for a kind readership and maybe a moderate number of reviews. But the amount of support I've received has completely blown me away. _

_**THANK YOU ALL! You are the best!**_

_And now to the chapter._

**THEM**

She wakes feeling extremely thirsty. It's early in the morning still, the clock on Castle's bedside table glowing out the time into the darkness of the room. She gets out of bed as quietly as possible, trying not to rouse her sleeping companion. A soft smile tugs at her lips as she steals a glance at him – his mashed face buried deep in the pillow, his hair all scruffy, his lips pink and puckered. Oh, so well-kissed. A wave of heat washes over her, steals her breath away. This is how it's supposed to be.

She darts a glance around the room, looking for something to wear, wrinkles her nose at the sight of yesterday's clothes. She grabs his shirt instead, pulls it over her shoulders, hastily fastening a couple of buttons. It reaches to just below her waist, barely covering her naked ass, but they're alone and his loft is warm. And when she buries her face into the soft, white fabric, she can make out the faint smell him, like sandalwood and aftershave, clean sweat and coffee. She momentarily blushes at the thought – the fact that she's sniffing at his shirt like some kind of an animal in heat – but then she just bites her lip, shrugging to herself. It's not like she's going to share _that_ little quirk with him, but she might as well enjoy it in secret. Besides, she's pretty sure he wouldn't mind. She decides she likes it.

She softly pads out of his bedroom, walking through the darkness of the loft with a preciseness that stems from her many nights sleeping over in the past. In the kitchen, she takes out a glass, fills it with water and drinks eagerly. Maybe it was the spicy pasta they had for dinner that's made her this thirsty, or maybe it was the physical activity which followed their date, activity which still makes her blush just thinking about. Either way, she downs two full cups then takes the third with her on her way back to the bedroom.

The apartment is dimly lit, the lights from outside mapping the shapes of the furniture, painting colorful images over the walls. Her eyes fall to the coffee table in the living room, coming to rest on an inconspicuous object there, waiting patiently to be noticed. It's his manuscript, the first chapter of the new Nikki Heat he gave her earlier, and she stops in her tracks.

She'd completely forgotten about it earlier, but now it's just _sitting_ there, and it feels like it's calling to her, and she can't help but plop down onto his couch, taking the stack of bound paper into her hands, her fingers skimming the pages almost reverently.

She has to read it. She has to read it _now_.

She looks around, searching for the switch to a nearby lamp. The room fills with soft yellow light the moment her fingers hit the button. Her eyes dart back to the bedroom, the door slightly ajar. She holds her breath, waits for a couple of moments, but when nothing stirs, she focuses once again on the pages before her.

_Reborn Heat – Chapter One_

She didn't tell him earlier, didn't really get a chance, how much this means to her, the book, the fact that he's writing again. That he decided to share this with her, selected her as the first person to see it out of all the people he could have picked.

Because Nikki Heat has always been about them, her character a mix of them both. Nikki's background story, the plot, her lines and characterization, that's always been inspired by Kate herself. But something far deeper and richer about the character has always been pure Castle. And although she'd rather die than admit it to him openly, it's always thrilled her how perfect a mix of the two of them Nikki is.

So she turns the first page, her breath catching in her throat, because she's been so afraid, afraid that she'd never read another line from him ever again. But here it is, not simply just a new book, but a _Nikki Heat_ continuation.

She'd have to be completely dense if she didn't catch on to the meaning of all of this, of the book, of his writing, the symbolic act of moving on. And once again, her heart seems to overflow with the intense emotions she feels for the amazing man currently sleeping in the next room. Because this could have broken them, her disappearance, but it didn't, because he decided to fight against it, to fight for _them_. She loves him even more for that.

She starts to read, slowly, wants to savor every single word. But before she knows it, she's completely engrossed in the story, her eyes flying over the words, soaking up their meaning, reading between the lines. More than once, her eyes blur, but she keeps reading, mesmerized by the plot, wanting to know more of the story, more of the details, always more.

It's the first chapter, he said, a finalized version that he'll send off to Black Pawn, declining any changes they might suggest. He said he felt strongly about it, the chapter, and now she knows why.

It's all about _them_. Well, technically, it's about Nikki and Rook, the two of them reuniting after Rook's staged death. He appears on the farm Nikki's been hiding on since his funeral, alive and apologetic, trying to explain an elaborate conspiracy scheme that forced him to go into hiding. Nikki's first instinct is to throw him out, her confusion, the inner turmoil in her soul, painfully evident. Rook departs, believing he's left behind everything that's ever been dear to him.

And Kate's chest squeezes when she reads this, for she knows that feeling, knows she should sympathize with Rook on this one, because he's representing and defending _her_ view, _her _part of the real life story, but she can't help rooting for Nikki as she sees the same saga she's lived through presented from a different pair of eyes. A very sad, confused and most heart-wrenchingly devastated pair of eyes. And Kate knows that what she's currently reading are Castle's very own, private thoughts mirrored in Nikki. In fact, the chapter seems to be an extremely personal confession. And it hurts – so badly – to read what he went through, how much in pain and lost he'd felt. But at the same time, it explains so much of his actions and reasoning, the harsh words that he said to her when she came back which still sting when she thinks about them, even now. And reading the story like this, turned over and presented from his – _Nikki's_ – point of view, has a truly cleansing effect on her. It hurts but elevates her heart and soul, all at the same time.

She finishes reading but stays seated, rooted to the spot, pondering everything, the meaning behind every word, every phrase, written as well as unwritten, the things in plain sight and the things carefully concealed between the lines of Castle's latest work. The chapter feels both lengthy and way, _way_ too short.

She sits on his sofa for a long while, her fingers absentmindedly stroking the pages while her mind works, processes, catalogues away everything Castle might or might not have wanted to share in his book.

A hand touches her shoulder, fingers squeezing reassuringly when she jumps, whipping her head around to find the man responsible for all of this looking at her from behind the couch.

"Hey," he murmurs gently. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

She lets out a long breath, her shoulders sagging in relief. "Hey," she returns, raising her hand to cover his larger one on her shoulder.

"You okay?" he asks as he circles the piece of furniture separating them, his hand stroking her shoulder before he finally lets it drop in favor of sitting down beside her.

"Yeah." She gives him a soft, reassuring smile. "Just lost in thought."

His eyes fall to the manuscript in her hands, eyebrows rising knowingly. "So you read it." She nods. There's a moment of silence before he asks, "Did you like it?"

The question is loaded, and as their eyes connect, she can hear all that he's not asking. And suddenly, her eyes are full, tears threatening to fall, a knot forming in her throat. She bites her lip, willing the tears to recede, trying to pull herself together, trying not to reveal too much despite knowing that she's already failed, her emotions laid bare and raw for him to see. A shadow of hurt crosses his features and his hand rises slowly to her face, fingers tracing her cheekbones, the furrows in her brow.

"Don't hide from me, Kate," he whispers. "You don't need to prove you're strong enough. I already know you are."

And at his words, the tears she's been fighting finally spill over and fall. She throws her arms forwards, pulling him into a hug, her face nestling into the crook of his neck as she takes huge gulps of air, trying to breathe through her breakdown. His arms come around her, gentle but firm, hugging her close and secure, and instant warmth washes over her.

They stay like that for a couple of moments, silent and together, while she composes herself. Then she hears the rustle of paper and remembers the manuscript, realizing that the pages must be mashed and crinkling between their bodies. She quickly disentangles, retrieving the crumpled pages and gently smoothes them out with her fingers, over and over again.

"She took him back too easily," she says quietly after a beat, her eyes firmly trained on the papers in front of her. She can't look at him right now. "Nikki, I mean," she clarifies. It's all there, in her words: her own guilt, her own insecurities. He doesn't say anything in response and she thinks she might have said too much, so she tries to detract from the main focus a little, tries to get back to the plot, to his book, to safer ground. "It's just…it's the first chapter, you know? Maybe she should make him suffer a little longer, make it a little harder for him," she suggests, her fingers nervously twitching over the first page as the silence stretches out. Finally she can't take it any longer, and she raises her eyes to his, finds him staring back at her. The intensity is too much but his eyes are captivating and she can't look away.

"I think," he starts, and there is something deep, rich and sad present in both his tone and his expression, "I think that Nikki knows that Rook suffered a lot, too." The gentleness, the genuineness behind his words, nearly kills her on the spot. She wants so much to believe him, to believe that _he_ believes what he's saying.

"He knew what he was getting into," she argues. "And he did it anyway."

Castle doesn't reply right away, his eyes falling to the wrinkled pages of the manuscript instead. "Why do you think he did it then? If he knew it would hurt her so badly?" he asks, his gaze still trained upon the papers in her hands, one of his fingers coming to trace the words printed on the first page, so close to her own but never touching. "What were his reasons, what's his defense?"

She looks back at the book, at his fingers dancing over the cover in haphazard yet careful patterns, wishing he would take her hand in his, lace their fingers, lock them together. She tries to concentrate on the book instead, on what she's just read, in order to answer his question.

"He wanted to keep her safe," she says on an exhale, her eyes falling shut, the meaning behind the words hitting her full force. Because it's an answer they both need to hear, need to accept, in order to truly begin healing, in order to move forward. It's more revealing than she'd ever dare to hope, the fact that Castle not only knows, but also_ accepts_ her reasons, giving her the final redemption for her lie – the lie that started it all – through Nikki herself.

The heaviness resting on her heart – the heaviness which has been her constant companion for so long that she's come to accept it as a natural, permanent burden – suddenly falls away, and Kate's surprised to find she can breathe better, easier. She looks at him, gazes deep into those two clear, understanding pools of blue.

She doesn't deserve him.

Still, even as that thought slides through her mind, she leans towards him until their lips finally meet, and all of her gratitude and love and reverence pour into this one, single kiss. She keeps the touch soft, relishes the feel of his warm lips upon her cold ones. When she withdraws at last, her eyes fall back to the first pages of _Reborn Heat_. Her heart now much lighter in her chest, there's still one more thing she needs to clarify, one more thing she needs to know in order to be sure of exactly where they stand.

"She's still angry at him though," she observes tentatively.

To her great surprise, this statement makes Castle laugh. "Yeah, you're right." he says. "But she's tough, and she'll eventually get over it," he adds lightly, his voice full of gentle, unquestionable conviction.

His answer makes her smile too, her eyes falling shyly to his chest. She knows they're done talking about this for the night, and apparently, so does Castle, because he slowly takes the manuscript from her hands, laying it down next to them on the coffee table.

She knows what's coming even before he makes the first move and they meet for the kiss somewhere in the middle. It's completely different from the one they shared only a moment ago. This one's not meant to reassure but to consummate, fueled by nothing more than heat and desire and love. Fueled by everything.

Their hands and lips are suddenly everywhere, his tongue licking the corner of her mouth, her teeth grazing the light stubble of his cheek, his fingers traveling between the tails of his stolen shirt to her bare skin beneath. His lips stop for a moment at her ear, his teeth nibbling at her lobe.

"I'm taking you back to bed now, Kate Beckett," he rasps, his words full of single-minded intent as his lips return to her mouth, heated and demanding. "And this time, it's _my_ turn to have my wicked way with you."

She can't help but smile.

xxx

_So that's it, guys. Only the epilogue left now. Share your thoughts while you can, because there won't be too many more opportunities in the future. C'mon, I know you want to! ;)_

_On another note, since my beta finds it more fun to travel some more over the globe and won't probably have the time to do the beta, is out there any sweet soul which'd be willing to go over my crude non-native writing in the epilogue? Anyone? If yes, that would be awesome, just please drop me a note in my PM box. Thank you in advance! _


	27. Epilogue

_The credit to at least half of this epilogue totally goes to my beta, Nik's. I love you girl!_

_So here we are._

**EPILOGUE**

She's running late for work.

She quickly pushes her arms through the sleeves of her blouse, buttoning it hastily as she slips into her high heels. Her make-up is already done and her hair frames her face in soft waves. She grabs her phone from the nightstand and tiptoes across the room as quietly as she can to get her purse, trying not to wake him.

He's tired, must be after his full night of writing. He'd joined her in bed just a few hours before; she distinctly remembers feeling the mattress dip under his weight in the darkness as he unsuccessfully tried to lower his bulky frame down carefully next to hers. He'd waited a moment – obviously hoping he hadn't woken her –before shifting closer, his hands spooning her from behind as he pressed a soft kiss against that special spot behind her ear. She has a vague recollection of mumbling something to him from her sleep, maybe she'd even asked him if everything was okay, but she's not sure whether that memory is real or just a dream.

He'd snapped awake shortly after they went to bed last night, shaken by a nightmare which he'd then kept stubbornly silent about. He'd merely kissed her forehead and sent her back to sleep, slipping from beneath the covers, whispering something about inspiration striking, a sudden need to write.

She'd known better though, had felt it even in the darkness, the jerkiness of his movements, the sweatiness of his skin. She hadn't said anything, however, didn't follow him, or join him in his study as she sometimes did, sensing his need for solitude.

It had become an intuitive thing for her over the course of the past couple of months, to know exactly when to leave him be and when to push him into talking. He'sknown her like that from the beginning, never had to learn. He's always just somehow _known_. But it hasn't come as easily for her as it had for him, not at first. She _has _had to learn – learn how to distinguish the various shades of his emotions, the state of his moods, the depth of his needs. But she's figured it out over time, and now it's second-nature to her.

So no, she hadn't followed him, had merely captured his hand briefly in hers as he slid from their bed, squeezing his fingers tightly, just so he'd know. That she was there, that she was his, that she cared.

And although _she_ needs to be up and about and on her way to work now, there's no reason he can't get a few more hours of well-deserved rest.

She retrieves her purse and catalogues the items inside before sweeping her eyes once more around the room. They come to rest on her nearly empty duffle bag, lying abandoned beside the door of his closet. The sight of it triggers a mental note to stop by her apartment after work. She needs to grab fresh clothes from home.

Actually, no, not home. Because her apartment isn't home, it's merely a place she rented a few months ago so that she'd have somewhere to sleep other than her father's house, somewhere closer to work, somewhere to feel more independent again. But truth be told, she's spent barely a handful of days there, and even fewer nights. It's not even really furnished, because she just hasn't had the time to deal with it, to make it more comfortable or cozy or familiar.

And if she's honest, the 'lack of time' thing isn't really true, it's just a very convenient excuse to use, a plausible reason as to why she's done absolutely nothing with the place. She likes to pretend it's because she spends too much time at work, or even too much time at Castle's. Because both of those are a lot easier to deal with than the strange, paranoid feeling that possesses her whenever she's actually there, a whispered voice in her head warning her that it would merely be tempting fate to put too much time and care into creating a new home for herself, because once she really fell in love with the place, she'd lose it, all of it. It would be ripped apart and torn asunder, wrenched away from her, just like the last two apartments she'd called home.

She really doesn't want to believe what that inner voice tells her. Yet she doesn't furnish the apartment either.

So her new place stays just that. A place. And home? Home is the loft – a warm, safe haven to return to after long, heavy days at work, a lively refuge filled with caring people, gentle laughter and loving embraces shared in abundance, a welcoming sanctuary set alight by the mischievous twinkle of deep blue eyes and a familiar, knowing smile. Castle is home.

It's mostly just the two of them there, often with the promise of some delicious dinner that he's whipped up, or an alluring new book that he just discovered in the bookstore, or an exciting, as-yet-unwatched T.V. show on his DVR that he totally wants to check out with her. And sometimes Alexis is there, too, stopping by to take a break from college life in order to spent some quality time with her dad. Martha's a regular presence as well, always arriving in a whirlwind, grandiosely proclaiming the need to check up on her child-like son while shooting a good-natured wink in Kate's direction.

Occasionally they'll drive out to her father's house for a late supper, picking up takeout from Jim Beckett's favorite New York restaurant along the way. Or they'll invite him over to the loft for a proper, home-cooked meal, 'courtesy of Castle', as the chef himself always likes to claim, trademark grin adorning his features.

She's used to it now, being with Castle, sharing her life, couldn't imagine living any other way. Coming home with him – _to_ him – spending her days in his company and her nights in his bed, under his sheets, in his arms. And it's so different to all those months ago when she was staying with him just because of his nightmares. Now she's here not because he needs her to be, but because he wants her to be. And she wants it, too. Can't imagine wanting anything else.

Her hand is on the door now, purse thrown over her shoulder, but she stops, turning her head to look back at the soundly sleeping man behind her, his limbs sprawled haphazardly across the whole bed. He's lying on his back, wearing only a soft green cotton shirt and boxers, his toes peeking out from under the sheets tangled at his feet. His hair is tousled and his lips are puckered, air leaving his slightly opened mouth in deep slow puffs.

_So damn irresistible._

She smiles as her feet carry her back to the bed. She really doesn't have time for this – she's already running late as it is – and besides, if he knew the effect he was having on her right now, she'd never hear the end of it. Still, she just can't help herself as she crouches down next to the side of bed closest to his head, observing him for a moment as he sleeps. She gently combs her fingers through his tousled hair, caresses his cheek with the pads of her fingers. She presses a gentle kiss to his forehead, holding her breath as he stirs slightly in his sleep. But he merely repositions himself in the bed, a deep contented sigh escaping his lips, followed by a small grin as he continues to doze. She smiles again – _seriously, how could she not –_ then finally rises to her feet. With a last glance in his direction, she closes the bedroom door behind her.

xxx

She finds Alexis in the kitchen, coffee already brewed, the alluringly fresh smell teasing Kate's senses. The teen is back home for a few days thanks to her mid-semester break, just generally chilling out and taking it easy. She's been a regular addition for meals, movie nights, theater visits and the like, and to Kate's surprise, it hasn't felt weird. Not at all. On the contrary, having Alexis around actually feels really nice. A bit unusual, but nice.

Castle's daughter is smiling now from across the counter, silently beckoning for Kate to take a seat and join her. Kate responds with an answering grin, shrugging off the necessity of heading to the precinct for just a few more minutes as she walks the small distance towards the kitchen. It'll only be a moment, she assures herself, just a brief span of time to enjoy Alexis' company. Just like the detectives who'd trained her, Kate's a bit old-fashioned when it comes to work, always making it a point to be one of the first officers to report for duty in the morning. At least most days she is, so hopefully her boss won't mind her arriving just a tad bit late this time around. Surely Captain Gates won't bite her head off if she takes another five minutes, will she? It's not like they have a running investigation anyway, just a crap-load of paperwork _no one_ is looking forward to. Yeah, it can wait.

By the time Kate plops onto one of the bar stools, Alexis is already pouring her a cup of the dark, steaming liquid, and Kate can't help her deep, eager inhalation of the intoxicating scent. Oh, Castle and his gourmet coffee. She has to admit, the man has impeccable taste.

She takes a tentative sip, savoring the hot, velvety wave of liquid which envelopes her tongue, the rich flavor drawing an appreciative hum from deep in her throat. She opens her eyes and throws Alexis a grateful smile.

"Thanks," she breathes fervently. "My morning just improved exponentially."

The girl just nods with a tiny smile, deftly returning the coffee pot to its former position before joining Kate at the counter. They stay like that for a few minutes, seated side by side, quietly sipping from their mugs, simply enjoying the unhurried atmosphere. Something is on Alexis' mind, though, Kate can tell. Normally Castle's daughter is cheerful and talkative in the mornings, always eager to discuss the day's plans, but today, she's strangely silent, still hasn't said a single word. Kate considers asking if anything's wrong but decides it's better to just wait the girl out. They've managed to build a good rapport over the last few months, and she trusts Alexis, knows that if the teen needs to talk about something, she'll bring it up when she's ready.

And she does, although it takes a few more minutes of silence and a few more sips of coffee. When she finally speaks, her voice sounds hesitant, timid even. "So…Dad had those nightmares again last night, didn't he?"

Kate's heart drops slightly in her chest. So Alexis had noticed as well. "Yes," she answers truthfully. "He did. But only last night, as far I can tell."

Alexis gives a small nod, mulling it over. "There was light in his study when I decided to get a glass of milk before I went to bed, and I found him furiously typing away on his computer at three in the morning. He had this…I don't know how to describe it…I guess _haunted – _and wild – look in his eye," she explains.

Kate winces, dipping her chin in acknowledgment. She knows that look only too well, knows that slightly desperate edge to his typing, knows the outline of that tiny vein pulsing in his forehead whenever he feels frustrated or agitated or helpless. It's not his relaxed style of writing, no. It's that frenzied, I-desperately-need-to-get-this-off-my-chest kind of writing.

She wants to believe that last night was just a fluke, a one-off recurrence of the nightmares which have made themselves so scarce over the past couple of months. She wants to believe that it's merely his subconscious reaction to recent events, a natural result of the final sentencing of the Dragon only a couple of days before and the extremely heightened emotions currently felt across the board, positive and negative – the DA's office and the FBI celebrating their victory as the defendant's flock of high-collar lawyers continue to huff and puff with hollow, impotent outrage.

That's what she wants to believe. But in all honesty, she's just not sure.

Alexis must be thinking along those same lines, too, because she asks, "Is it really over, Kate? Is Collins really going away for life?"

_Collins. The Dragon. Her mother's killer. _Sentenced to life without parole, found guilty on multiple counts of first degree murder, having commissioned – with both knowledge and forethought – the successful hits of Johanna Beckett, three of her colleagues, and at least four other confirmed individuals. He's finally been exposed for what he truly is. And yet, despite the verdict, Kate knows the battle's only just begun.

"I wish I could promise that, Alexis," she starts slowly, keeping her voice even, "but I can't. Nobody can. He's a wealthy, well-known public official, and he's got a veritable army of lawyers at his disposal. They'll definitely appeal. It might take months, years even, until the verdict is definite."

Uneasiness grows on Alexis' face and Kate bites her lip and drops her eyes to the counter for a moment, hating that she couldn't give the answer they both wanted to hear, hating that it's all just shades of gray.

"Still," she adds after another moment of silence, "it _is _a good thing. The sentence." Alexis' eyes stay trained on Kate's, and she continues, infusing her voice with calm fact and gentle reassurance. "It shows that the case they built against him is solid, strong enough to withstand any procedural or circumstantial attacks from Collins' defense attorneys. Which means it's highly likely that the verdict _will_ hold, and that he won't be successful in his attempt to appeal."

"We," Alexis says softly. "You mean 'we'."

"Sorry?" Kate asks, slightly confused.

"You said 'the case _they_ built against him'," Alexis clarifies. "But you should have said 'we'." She looks down into her mug of coffee, avoiding Kate's eyes. "That's where you were, right? That's what you were doing when you…left. You were working on the case."

"Um, yeah," Kate replies, a bit thrown off at the sudden conversation swing. She'd talked about those hellish eight months exactly one time with Alexis, and she definitely hadn't been expecting it to come up now. "Yeah, I was."

Alexis nods, still avoiding eye contact. "And you think it's strong. The case. Strong enough to hold up in court, strong enough to really end all of this?"

"I hope so, Alexis," Kate answers quietly, unsure whether the truthfulness of her words will be a comfort or a burden.

"But you can't be sure," presses the teen, a little frown forming across the smooth skin of her forehead. Kate shakes her head sadly, observing the redhead with heavy eyes. Alexis is still so young, so innocent. She shouldn't have to deal with stuff like this, death and murder and potential assassins. And yet…

Alexis finally looks up, meeting Kate's gaze with her own. "And what if he decides to do something about it, take revenge? On you?"

Alexis doesn't say it, but Kate hears it anyway. _What if he hurts you? Or my dad? What if my father ends up as collateral damage in your war? _

Kate takes a deep breath. She definitely didn't expect a morning conversation like this when she joined Alexis in the kitchen, but she probably should have. Alexis is too smart, too curious and mature, to be willingly left out of the loop on this particular topic. And despite the fact that Kate is already running late for work, she knows that this conversation is an important one. _Alexis_ is important. So she stays, doesn't even consider bailing out or running away, as she probably would have in earlier days. She feels a little proud of herself.

"Alexis," she starts, pulling in another deep breath, "before exposing Collins, the FBI made absolutely sure that they had a handle on his whole web of contacts, made sure they could freeze his accounts, made sure they'd be able to monitor all the new money trails coming in and going out." She pauses, searching for the best way to continue.

"I wouldn't have…that's why I came back when I did. I had to be sure it was safe, that there were no more strings for him to pull, no more escape routes. And there aren't," she states firmly. "The case is cracked wide open now, and he's got the public keeping a close eye on him_._ And if he ever _did_ decide to take revenge on…" – she wavers, furiously annihilates the word 'us' from her mind, refusing to use it, even in her own thoughts – "…_me_, he'd be risking everything. Which would be the height of stupidity. He's a lot of things, but stupid is _not_ one of them."

She leans back, running her hands through her hair, shutting her eyes against the weariness which suddenly assaults her. "No, he's going to be concentrated on his appeal, and I'm sure his lawyers are keeping him busy, not to mention pumping him of his last legal money, so I guess he won't dare to take the risk, knowing it wouldn't be worth it in the end. And by the time both, his as well as the DA's lawyers, are finished with him a couple of years from now, he will have no power or money left to take on any personal vendettas, will have to use whatever influence and wealth that's left to try to stay _alive_ inside the prison walls."

She sees it again, sees it the girl's eyes, all that she _won't_ say to Kate. _But you can't know for sure._

Kate lets out a heavy sigh, because yes, Alexis is right, she can't be sure. She wishes nothing more than to be able to give Alexis what she needs to hear, reassurances that are true at the same time, that nothing will ever happen to her or her grandmother or father because of her, because of Kate. And despite the fact that Kate believes and hopes for the truth of her words, she'll never be able to know for sure.

She's decided she was done hiding, done running, is too exhausted for it anyway. She's lost too much already in the process and stands to lose even more now. But she wishes she could make things easier, less complicated for the people she cares about. People like Alexis, innocent bystanders who got involuntarily sucked into this nightmare of her life.

She can't look at Alexis anymore, has to avert her eyes in shame, too craven to face the accusations of being too selfish shining in Castle's daughter eyes. But then Alexis' hand comes to cover hers on the bar, her warm fingers gentle squeezing Kate's hand.

"I'm glad you found him, Kate. I'm glad you could bring your mom the justice she deserved," the girl utters quietly.

Tears fill Kate's eyes, sudden, overwhelming and unbidden as she stares at their joined hands, completely taken aback by Alexis' words. She has to squeeze her teeth together, _hard_, for not letting the moisture slip down her cheeks. It's the sincerity behind them as well as the final acknowledgment of Kate's long, tiring struggle that gets to get, especially since it comes from a source she least expected to ever receive forgiveness from. In seizes her whole being, crawls under her skin.

God, she needs a moment. Or two.

"Thank you, Alexis. You'll never know how much that means to me," Kate manages to squeeze past her lips at last, has to concentrate hard on her breathing in order not to fully break apart in front of the young woman. She flips her hand over and catches Alexis' slightly smaller palm into her hand, squeezes tightly in a gesture of utmost gratitude.

"You're welcome, Kate," says Alexis, giving Kate a small, solemn smile. Then, sensing her continuous struggle with getting her emotions under control, Alexis slips down from her stool, bringing Kate for a short, slightly awkward one-armed hug.

"I'm gonna take a shower now. Have a good day at work." She's already on her feet and headed to the stairs when she suddenly stops in her tracks, turning back towards Kate. "Oh, and Kate?"

Kate looks up at her, looks up at this wonderful, _amazing_ creature who's not even twenty years old, and she suddenly understands each and every single time Castle ever proudly boasted about his daughter, knows without a single doubt that he has absolutely every reason to. "Yeah?" she rasps out, her emotions still raw around the edges. Alexis smiles again and a completely unexpected surge of affection for the girl catches Kate unawares, hitting her full-force and nearly shattering the last remains of her self-control.

"Stay safe, okay?" Alexis tilts her head slightly, her grin going lopsided, an exact replica of her father's. "At work, I mean."

With that, she turns on the balls of her feet, and heads up the stairs, leaving Kate in the relative privacy of the Castle kitchen, completely at a loss as to how she's going to pull herself together for work.

xxx

She ends up being more than an hour late, but by the time lunch rolls around, she considers her belated arrival to be the best decision of the day so far. This particular morning has been a brutal one. There are no new cases – just a lot of mind-numbing paperwork for both her and the boys, along with some complicated prep for two upcoming trials – but obviously the universe has it in for them, because every type of non-murder-related hell that could have possibly broken loose in Manhattan last night apparently did.

The precinct is packed to the brim with troublemakers – burglars, pickpockets, hobos, hookers, even a pack of rowdy, drunken football fans who broke out into a huge fight at a nearby bar and have yet to sober up so that proper statements can be taken to clear up the whole mess. The place is a circus and pandemonium reigns, with no end in sight. Not to mention that the huge stack of paperwork in front of her seems to be exponentially growing – with every file she clears, three more mysteriously appear out of thin air.

She sighs, throwing her pen down onto the desk and bringing her hands up to cradle her head, elbows resting on the various piles of papers lying haphazardly across her desk. She senses a headache in the offing. A bad one.

God, it's an absolutely horrible thought, but Kate longs for a murder, just so she can get out of this place for an hour or two, get some fresh air into her lungs. Or, well, whatever passes for fresh air at a new crime scene. But yeah, a nice, easy homicide sounds pretty damn appealing right now, preferably somewhere outdoors. Nothing too gruesome or freaky. Just a nice, normal murder.

Okay, so her frustration is making her morbid. So what? It's not like she can actually instigate a murder with her thoughts, right? The sudden ring of a phone blares up in the background, catching Kate's attention, her body freezing in place, head snapping up.

_Damn, seriously?!_

Esposito is just in time to whack away the hand of a delusional hobo who tries to pick up the call first. The Latino detective glares menacingly, clicking his tongue and shaking his head at the man even as he listens to the voice on the other end of the receiver. Meanwhile, the homeless suspect decides it's best to cut his losses, shrinking back into his designated chair at Karpowsky's desk.

With a grunt of acknowledgement, Espo hangs up the phone and Kate holds her breath, part of her horrified at the notion that her boredom may have been the cause of some random New Yorker's untimely demise and part of her thrilled at that very same prospect.

"Body?" she asks, unsuccessfully trying to mask the hopefulness in her voice.

Espo shakes his head, looking pretty disappointed himself. "Nah. Just Tenner. He's stopping by later this afternoon, wants to go over the wife's testimony again. Says he doesn't want to take any chances on Forgham walking." He turns towards the far side of the room, where a sweaty, red-faced Karpowsky is currently wrestling with a broken copy machine. "And yo! Karpowsky! Get a handle on your boy there, will you? He's tried to steal my lunch twice already," he shouts.

So the call was from Tenner, the prosecuting attorney on that legal case which has been dragging on for _months_ now. And he's coming by _again._ To go over testimony _again._ Ugh. This is going to be a _long_ day. Kate sighs resignedly, grabbing her coffee mug and bringing it to her lips. Empty. _Damn!_

It's times like these that she misses Castle most. Not because of the coffee – although she definitely misses that, too – but because of his presence, his spirit, that childish zeal that she's sure he'd bring to a day like this, always looking for the brighter and more positive aspects of things.

He'd probably annoy her right up until the point he managed to lure an involuntary smile out of her. And then she'd threaten to kill him if he didn't shut up and let her work. But she'd surreptitiously sneak a peek later, drinking in the sight of him as he played with his smart phone in his chair beside her desk. Hell, she might even have pulled him into an empty observation room for a hot make-out session, which would definitely leave them both feeling breathless and longing throughout the course of the day, desperately trying – and probably failing – to keep their workplace PDA to a minimum.

But that's something she doesn't have to worry about, workplace PDA. Because Castle never comes to the precinct anymore. And God does she miss her partner. She can solve cases without him, still has the highest success rate, but it's not the same, of course it's not. It's solemn, and flat, and exhausting. The joy she used to find in her work, the fun she used to have piecing everything together, is gone. Because he's gone. And only after she'd lost him did Kate realize how much of a difference he had really made in the precinct. Not just for her, either. For all of them.

But he won't – _can't_ – come back, as he's explained to her a hundred times over, obviously feeling guilty and restless and responsible, despite the fact that she's never blamed him for it. She knows his reasons, understands them all too well.

What once drew her closer to murder drives _him_ away.

So she doesn't ask him to come to the precinct, even though she misses his presence at her side daily. The boys stopped asking about him after a while too, finally figuring out there was a bigger issue than her and Castle's constant, flimsy claims that he simply had no time, was too busy working on the finishing touches of his latest book. Of course, if losing him as a partner means getting to go home to him every night, getting to be the last one to see him when they turn the lights out and the first one to see him when they wake in the morning, then she'll take it. Gladly. It's a small price to pay.

Still, she misses him. And she's not going to lie – it _would _be nice to have someone around for the coffee runs. Beckett sighs and grabs her empty mug, rising to her feet and walking the short distance to the break room. A small smile blooms on her face as her eyes fall on the familiar coffee machine. At least there's that, this single object which represents everything, all of it together – her and Castle and coffee and the precinct. As it should be.

Suddenly there's a loud commotion from the bullpen, and Kate rolls her eyes as she turns back towards the door, her mug already forgotten. She steps out of the break room just in time to see Ryan wrestling an angry-looking Esposito away from Karpowsky's hobo.

"He took my lunch – I saw him! He has it under his…robes, or whatever he's wearing!" Espo accuses furiously, flailing his hands about, unsuccessfully attempting to evade Ryan's strong grip. Karpowsky's there too, trying to calm down the situation, but Kate can already see it's too late, because an extremely irritated Gates is stalking towards all four of them with a scowl painted across her face. She orders an unfortunate officer who just happens to be walking by to look after Karpowsky's suspect then directs all three detectives into her office with a pointed finger, a sharp tone and a dangerously arched eyebrow. Kate can actually hear Ryan gulping. She – along with the rest of the now muted bullpen – quietly watch as the four of them walk off, the office door slamming shut definitively behind them.

"Wow, obviously I've been seriously missing out," comes a bemused voice from behind her. She freezes for a split second, not even daring to actually believe, and then her head snaps around sharply to face him, to check whether he's truly there or just a desperate figment of her imagination.

_Castle._

He's leaning casually against the door frame, as if this is just any other day on the job, holding two large cups of freshly brewed coffee from their favorite café down the street. He must have used the other door of the break room, following after her when she heard the commotion in the bullpen.

She's still gazing at him, mesmerized, but he merely grins at her and wiggles his eyebrows, that boyish smile of his setting his whole face alight.

"Thought I'd stop by, bring you a cup of coffee," he explains, offering her one of the paper cups. Only when she takes it from him does she realize her hands are shaking. She can't believe he's actually here, especially today, especially after she'd thought about him all morning, wishing for his presence and, with the sickening crush of her heart, knowing it would never happen.

And yet here he is. And suddenly she's moving. She squeezes the cup of coffee he's just given her tightly as she instinctively brings her other hand up around his neck, threading her fingers through his hair to cradle his head, pulling him in for a heated kiss, right then and there in the middle of the bullpen.

She doesn't care about the people who might see them, doesn't care about PDA, or professional behavior, or any other stupid rules. This is her writer, and he just brought her coffee and he came, he _came_, and she loves this silly, sweet, wonderful man so much, loves him beyond all reason.

"Now _that_ is a proper thank you," Castle murmurs, slightly dazed as they finally pull apart. She grins at him, her coffee still in hand, the familiar scent of him already attacking her senses.

God how she's missed this, missed having him here, with her, teasing and bantering, working together, building the case, exchanging new theories and crazy ideas. This was where it had all started, where they'd begun.

She slips her hand back down through his hair to cradle his cheek, smoothing her thumb along the lines of his face, can't help but press another soft peck against his lips. There's laughter in the background, then some clapping, wolf-whistling even, and when she turns to look for the source, she sees that the entire bullpen is staring, everyone eyeing them closely for a moment before suddenly breaking into animated chatter, money appearing from pockets and transferring from hand to hand.

Her cheeks blossom crimson – _damn it, when the hell will the 12__th__ finally get tired of betting on the two of them?_ – but when she turns back to Castle, she catches sight of that huge, goofy grin, along with that mischievous twinkle in his eye as he merely shrugs at her, and she can't help grinning back, quickly biting her lip and burying her face in his shoulder, hiding there for a moment, at least until the color finally leaves her cheeks.

Thank God that Gates still seems to be berating Esposito, Ryan and Karpowsky in her office, because if the boys had actually been witness to her overt display of affection for Richard freaking Castle, she'd have never, _ever_ lived it down. Not to mention the horrendous rant she'd have probably gotten from Gates. Yeah, it's a good thing they hadn't seen – she'd better make sure it stays that way.

Still, in spite of the risk, she lets herself be cradled by Castle for one moment longer.

"Hey," she murmurs softly, her face close to his as she leans into him, pressing her body shamelessly against his own.

"Hey yourself," he answers back with a smirk.

She gives herself another minute to gaze into his eyes before finally pulling away, not wanting to push her luck in regards to Gates – or Ryan and Esposito – too far. She glances down between herself and Castle instead, her eyes falling onto the coffee cup clutched in her hand.

"And how did you know I was just about to make myself another cup?" she teases, finally taking an appreciative sip of the hot liquid, her eyebrows raised questioningly over the rim.

He lets out a low chuckle at her words. "You're _always_ up for another cup of coffee, Kate. It's one of your two addictions," he states knowingly.

She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. "Two, huh?"

He nods matter-of-factly, face awash in impish humor. "Uh-huh. And the second one starts with 'C', too. I'll give you three guesses." He grins as she rolls her eyes at him, trying unsuccessfully to hide her amusement with a mock scowl.

"Is there a particular reason for your visit, or are you just here to annoy me?" She regrets the words as soon as she says them, not sure if he's up for the normal banter, the sarcastic give and take. "Not that I'm complaining," she adds hastily, her heart fluttering in her chest, restarting in a steady, quickened beat.

"Actually, no," he says, his eyes softening perceptibly for a moment before regaining his normal, teasing expression. "Truth is, I'm here for purely selfish reasons. First off, I missed you," he admits, wiggling his eyebrows at her again and causing an annoyingly giddy feeling to rise in her chest. "And second off, I got kind of…_stuck._" His last word is accompanied by a slight wince, and her brow furrows in response.

_Stuck?_

"With the plot," he clarifies. "With the core of the murder. Something just doesn't add up, and I can't quite put my finger on it."

_Oh. His writing._

"So I was hoping maybe I could hang out here with you guys for a while. You know, breathe in some true, authentic atmosphere, recover my inspiration." His words are pronounced in trademark Castle fashion, confident and casual, but she can hear that layer of uncertainty lacing his tone.

She smiles at him, something painful pulling at her heartstrings as she takes him in, really takes him in. _Castle_ – here, at the precinct. She takes his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers before giving him a tight, reassuring squeeze and leaning into him slightly.

"Your presence has been _greatly_ missed, Castle," she whispers softly. His answering smile is warm, rich and loving, but it quickly spreads out into that cat-who-ate-the-canary grin of his, and oh crap, now she's done it. "By Ryan and Esposito, of course," she hastens to add in an off-hand tone. "The two of them have been missing you like _crazy._"

His smirk merely grows, and she knows he can see straight through her nonchalance. She bites her lip and glances down, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth.

"Hey, Castle!" Both of them turn at the familiar voice, taking in the sight of Ryan and Esposito walking towards them, grins growing on both their faces. So the reprimand session in Gates' office must be over then. "Man, it's great to see you here," beams Ryan, offering his hand to Castle for an enthusiastic handshake.

"Yeah, bro," Espo adds, clasping Castle's palm in a firm grip right after Ryan. "Beckett's been extremely cranky and hard to deal with without- OUCH!"

He deserves an even stronger pinch in the side than the one she just gave him, but Kate decides to take mercy on him, merely shooting him the _don't-you-ever-try-that-again_ glare instead.

Suddenly there's a very distinctive click of heels behind them, and Kate freezes.

"Mr. Castle!" the authoritative voice of Victoria Gates booms behind their backs, causing all four of them to spin towards her at the same time, varying levels of guilt and apprehension written across each of their faces. "They say the good times can't last forever," she states dryly, coming to a halt before the group and anchoring her hands on her hips. "I knew it was only a matter of time until I caught you back in my precinct."

Kate's gaze whips from Gates to Castle and then back again, her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth. She barely manages to get out a stilted "Sir…" before the older woman raises her finger warningly.

"Not now, Detective." She turns towards Castle, skewers him with a piercing stare. "I take it you're here to stay, Mr. Castle?"

Castle clears his throat audibly, his eyes flicking over to meet Kate's before settling back on the Captain. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, that's the plan."

Gates narrows her eyes slightly, appraising the obviously uncomfortable writer for an agonizingly long moment of time. "Fine," she proclaims suddenly. "Fine." Her gaze shifts to Kate. "I suppose it was unavoidable anyway, wasn't it?"

Kate's heart skips a beat, understanding the weight of the words but not quite able to believe them as she watches Gates step curtly around their group and continue on to the break room. Kate steals a glance at Castle, but he's still gaping at the retreating form of the Captain, mouth ajar, eyes widened in shock. Espo and Ryan have pretty much the same expressions on their faces, and she's sure she looks just as dumbfounded.

They're all still standing there, frozen in place and staring after Gates, when she twists back around towards them a few seconds later. "Oh, and Mr. Castle?" she calls. "Stay out of trouble please, if that's even possible. The mayoral election isn't far away, and I'm going to be keeping a very, _very _close eye on you."

"Um, okay," Castle stutters out as Gates turns away once more. Castle's look is even more bewildered than Kate's as they gaze at each other in astonishment. "Did she just…?"

"Yeah." Kate answers. "Yeah, I think she did." They keep staring, not quite able to believe that they just received a freaking blessing from Captain 'Iron' Gates herself. Not even the shrill ringing of Esposito's cell phone pulls them out of it.

"Yeah, on our way." Espo flicks off his phone and throws a look in Kate's direction. "Yo, Beckett." She doesn't respond immediately and he repeats himself, resting a hand on her forearm, drawing her back to the real world. "We got ourselves a body."

_Yes!_

But then her eyes return to Castle. _No._

The precinct is one thing, but an actual crime scene, that's something else entirely. She could never ask him to face that again, especially not after he's already taken such a big step forward today. For her. For himself. For them.

"I have to…I need to go, Castle," she says quietly, apology and panic shining from her eyes at the thought of leaving him behind. The boys are already at their desks, throwing on their jackets and gathering their things while she still stands rooted to the spot in the middle of the precinct, gazing helplessly at Castle, silently asking him what to do.

"Yeah, sure. No problem, Kate," he responds, smiling reassuringly and giving her an encouraging nod as she takes a few hesitant steps away from him. "You just go ahead." But then she hears it, the hesitation in his voice, the longing he's trying to hide.

She stops, takes a deep breath. And then, despite her own uncertainty, despite the uneasiness gripping her insides and the fear that it's just too much too soon, she turns and looks straight at him, her eyebrows arching slightly.

"You coming, Castle?"

There's a moment, a split second in time when the two of them just look into each others' eyes, perfect understanding passing between them.

And then a smile breaks out across his face, radiant and effortless. He gestures towards the elevator with one hand, the other still clutching his coffee, a mischievous, curious twinkle entering his eyes.

"Lead the way, Detective."

THE END

_Thank you all, it was a marvelous journey. I'll be eagerly awaiting your very last reviews for this story. *sob sob*_


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